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.a mother says to her son
can you feel the world lodged
in your rib? do not tell
me you can't, it's right there
and let's not tell god
anything about this, let's give
him the silent treatment like
he's giving to us,
sometimes i wake up wanting
to shred myself into ribbons
tie me up in a bow and send myself
to your doorstep with no
return address and let you deal with it,
you're not listening and you're not
understanding, you're too busy
trying to read all the text, but
i can go days without speaking
one word, got a habit of holding my
breath diving into my own mind
for hours, blue bottomless pool
river veins with the bones of a dream
drifting through, some stuck on the
banks all dried up and thirsty, this
shark tooth reminds me of you so i
press it in hard, still not one single
drop, a baby raccoon floats by with
no life but wide eyes, i know you'll
pray the horned god sends him
straight to the sea, drown him out
with that voice that says maybe
next year when you search for
DenmarkxDead!Reader - Empty
Mathias sighed gruffly as he dug through his pocket for his key. He extracted the key when he finally found it, and unlocked the front door to his apartment.
“_____, I’m home,” he said, but stopped himself when he realized that he was entering an empty room.
Empty. That’s how he felt for the past several weeks now.
He wanted her back. The love of his life. The only person he had ever truly cared for––and had cared for him in return. He wanted her to greet him when he came home, to smile and kiss him as sweetly as she had before.
But she never would again.
Mathias sighed again and closed the door behind him.
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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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