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She felt absolutely crushed, aShe felt absolutely crushed, as if someone had taken a knife to her heart and twitched it around repeatedly. The kiss was nothing like she had imagined it would be, it was short and just.. -wrong-! She touched her lips with her fingertips, trying to remember the feel of his mouth so close to her own. She shivered, and cringed with disgust. Why would he say such a thing and then kiss her, she couldn't make sense of it.
He was angry with her now, she knew it and the feeling of guilt weighed heavy on her. She questioned herself, had she overreacted, was it all just in her head.
She tugged on her sleeves, unable to control the emotions which kept building up inside of her, she could feel the salty taste of tears on her lips, but for once she did not care who noticed.
The words kept repeating within her mind, "I like you too, but I like her more" then the memory of the kiss forced on her lips.
She cried out in anger, her fists slamming down at the ground.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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