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Death of a Muse
My muse died on me.
See, it happened something like this:
I was in the middle of writing on epic battle for that Christmas present I promised you. My muse, a handsome man by the name of Apollo (sadly-or perhaps thankfully-not the Greek god), was sitting on my lap as I typed my story. Well, your story, sort of. All was peaceful until this huge dude with an axe burst through the door.
I spun (span? spinned? Nothing sounds right now that Apollo is gone) my swivel chair around to face the monster. His unevenly-sized eyes were electric blue and gleaming. His black hair was styled like a Mohawk on the left (well, his right) and a really bad, uneven bowl-cut (how the hell is that even possible?) on the right (or his left). This strange man towered over me at 9'7" tall...when he was slouching! His teeth were extremely crooked and his clothes were so torn and dirty that they had become rags.
The guy pulled Apollo off of my lap and slammed him down on the ground. He chopped both of
Re: Dear YouDear Youthe person who wrote that letter to everyone,
I am sure many people are amazing.
I am not one of them.
I have no real talent. I am not amazing. I have been told how wonderful I am in the past, but it was normally from someone who does not know me. It was from someone who thought they knew me, but I have lied to them so many times and they never even noticed. If anything, the sheer number of lies I have told should tell you I am not as wonderful as they say.
Okay, so I do have talent. I can lie and complain like nobodys business. Great. What the hell am I supposed to do with these skills? Nothing worth doing.
I despise someone I know I will never beatmy biological sister, Caitlin, but if I am supposed to forget the people I admire...does that not mean I have to forget about you?
And besides, the world needs to change. For the better. Something I know you can accomplish, because your words are so powerful. I know that with your writing, you could chan
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