|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
DespairSelf inflicting pain...
Deathly silky red spalshes against a whitewash canvas
Solemn brakes hitting my beating heart
Scars becoming the new mask,
the mask of eternal insanity....
I like this place...
Cold....and fuzzy....and pretty
Just like the vertical lines that etch my wrists, weeping tears of blood
Scratched into my heart like nails dragging on a blackboard
Save me from this nightmare
Madness is for the weak....insanity is for the seekers....psychosis is perfect
Becoming psycho - the American Psycho
How else could I live out 'The American Dream'?
2 Sides to Every Clown Chap 1
'Heath.......HEATH! OVER HERE!!!!'
Flashes of bright, dazzling, white light caused Heath to grimice as the sinister papparazi snapped his pictures. His deep aubern, brown eyes started to turn red as the flashes of luminescence caused Heath's sight to deteriorate. Hot flushes began to appear in his cheeks as he tryed to escape the cameras - he hated 'this' kind of attention, always had with the camera hungry rodents. Heath ran his strong hand through his fluffy, dirty blonde hair - something he did to selfcomfort himself when he was nervous - and began to walk down the extravangant red pathway - the marroon red carpet that awaited in front of Heath.
The path was a magnificent one...Brokeback Mountain promo posters lined buildings near it - crazed fans lining the sides, trapped by metal railings and brawly security men, eagar for a moment with Heath.
Heath liked 'this' kind of attention - he knew that his signature or photo would'nt be sold to the press, that the love and kindness of his
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
Keep in Touch!
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