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I Wasn't Supposed To Be Worth It.Was it worth it?
Trading the taste of cinnamon on your lips
To smell like cigarettes and a painful hangover.
Was life so cruel to your perfectly skewed smile,
That you had to swallow a bottle of brandy
Every night at 9 pm
To hear yourself laugh again?
How could I have not noticed
The tremor in your right hand
Every time you held a pen?
Was I so blind for the love you had for me to see
That my love was destroying you?
'I am yours.' You whispered when you still had Petrichor surrounding you.
I inhaled your scent like oxygen,
All the while I suffocated you like sulfur.
You gave me your heart on a plate,
And I was the last pill that took your life away from you too.
Mother always told me I broke the things I had
Because that is how I was;
Selfish and undeserving.
I didn't deserve you.
You weren't supposed to be mine.
Nobody Likes the RainNobody likes the rain,
So don't pretend to, my dear.
Blood that flows to the drain,
Its arrival is your worst fear.
Nobody wants the rain,
They all hope for the sun.
While they all run to Spain,
It lies in wait for the one.
Nobody dreams of the rain,
Its mood as cold as its heart.
Its eyes as dark as its vein,
And its smile as false as its start.
And nobody feels the rain,
As they push it out and away.
No one feels its shimmery strain,
As it hides beneath clouds of grey.
So nobody needs the rain,
Their flowers not watered but vodka'd.
They celebrate with champagne,
As rain cries a puddle of water.
Sad, nobody loves the rain,
As it kisses its own sodden skin.
But who is she to complain,
Each lone breath is a dark deadly sin.
Yet, nobody knows the rain,
Still she holds the blade hard to her wrist.
And, nobody knows the pain,
As she sits in the haze of the mist.
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More