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I'm thoroughly done, lock my soul in the cage, leave my body to decay with age.
Place me in the corner, remove all the lights, let me not see all the abusive fights.
Let the ambient souls speak to my own, for they have keys that are mine, fiercely unknown.
Place my blood in the black circle of pathways, empty my flesh into the cage beneath, decorate my eyes with silver teardrops, and embalm my crushed bones into the wreath.
Paint my soul with memories and time, be sure to place them in order of rhyme.
And once the ritual is finally complete, whisper the words, "to end without defeat."
Emotionless and BlandEmotionless and bland, distorted and pale, these are names I've been forced to inhale.
Centuries forward and centuries behind, they were engraved into my soul and mind.
Left only there for the purpose of time, I began to love them and make them mine.
United we slaughtered, united we fell, together we raced, but left separate to Hell.
Alas, beyond the cage we're in, we'll soon break free and annihilate the twin.
The twin, who trapped us together as one, she laughed and she cried for she viewed it as "fun."
We will slit open her throat and suck out her blood, leave her to rot in the flesh-colored mud.
Her corpse will sink deep into the filth she created, sealing the pathway and keeping us gated.
Gated from her shenanigans and protected by rhyme, our engagement has been completed and we now rest with time.
Needles upon needles and spring upon stones, your flesh must be torn and removed from your bones.
At half-past five when the painted crow sings, you'll then be taken to room eleven and removed of your things.
First goes your skin, such a painful task, though you'll witness it all with a mirrored mask.
Next goes your bones, they must be ground fine, for they'll be sent to the creature that desires to dine.
And once only your blood remains, I will devour it majestically, for it'll heal my pains.
Start the flames and pour in the water, dinner will be made of the wise man's daughter.
She came into our house, she did, and put her nasty fingers in the trap we hid.
Simple cookies caught her eye, their fresh appearance made her laughing mouth cry.
And here is she is, about to die, let's chop her up, and leave her to fry.
For, we are the witches, the nasty witches, the ones that kill children and their twitches.
We fry them up like eggs and ham, later preserving their intestines for jam.
How wicked we are, indeed, indeed, for we are witches not born from pure seeds.
A GardenPorcelain lilies weeping in the pond, how emotionless and fragile their faces are.
Demonic statues paralyzed in the garden, each one fell from above a star.
Tattered leaves scattered across the pathway, cracking and floating away like glass.
In order to enter this magnificent garden, your proof must be displayed from your past.
MalformedMalformed, a cursed name you've called us countless times.
You beseech us to remove our masks so you may carve into passed times.
I think not, for your ideas have not a drop of sheer power.
The three of us together will shred your bleached soul within the hour.
Still yourself you impudent worm, you'll be released of your cage, once it's your turn.
Slither and screech for as long you desire, no matter your judgment you'll become malformed in the fire.
UntitledSwiftly cursing from one to the next, witness in the air the flesh-colored text.
Etching itself into the mindless brains, with each soul consumed its power gains.
Observe their activities straightforward and done, they dare not look upon anything except for the sun.
Clouded by falsity and crystalized tales, before them lies years of unfortunate fails.
And shall you become a mindless clone?
It's up to my sister, if you choose not to live alone.
HerTake a glance at timeless years behind, you'll see a trembling creature who had lost her mind.
And witness now, the being you see, one born from the shadows and divinity.
One that is stronger, reborn into wrath, all will suffer who stand fierce in her path.
Given to her the blessing of death, she will conjure thunderstorms within a single hairs breadth.
Passing judgement to those in need, in her years of deliverance she will highly succeed.
Ending all with these few simple words, "You were seen, but always unheard."
The Cloud of Desperate GloomTwice upon a summer's moon, arrives the cloud of desperate gloom.
Looming over far and wide, it devastates the plentiful countryside.
Consuming all within its path, none can escape its unstoppable wrath.
Swallowing the helpless birds and trees, it brings all the living to their knees.
But after the moon slowly dies, the cloud goes with it, nevermore it flies.
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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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