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Bedroom AcousticsInspired by the Muse B-side of the same name.
I wake to the sound of Marcél's guitar, his fingers gently strumming the thin strings, each flick precise and deliberate.
I gingerly open my eyes.
I can barely make out the bedside clock; it reads 2:35 am.
I don't move for fear of Marcél stopping his performance. So silent and frozen, I listen to him play.
It's a soothing sound. A refreshing sound.
Full of peace. Serenity.
It makes me feel whole. Makes me feel full. I already feel full.
Beneath the covers I quietly shift my naked body and bring my hands to cup my swollen belly.
Just one more month to go.
One more month before baby sounds fill this room.
I stopped wearing clothes at night because they were too hot. I was too hot because I couldn't sleep. And I couldn't sleep because I have a sack of organs, flesh and soul growing in my womb. My child. My treasure.
I close my eyes and listen to Marcél. Listen to the serenade.
Listen to my heart pound. God, the pounding i
I walk off the beaten path
Ticking clocks and white shadows lie behind
The ebony door in front of me beckons
I push it open and the darkness consumes me
Eyes struggle to adjust
Ears are bombarded with noise and sound
Then all senses focus
And I can see through the black a pale figure
Cautiously I approach, feet silent in the void
Now I am close enough to see, to smell, to touch
The figure is a Body
A Body lying on its back, still and noiseless
A broken mirror stands behind it
The Body's eyes stare above at starless skies
Then its head turns to me
Pupils meet and vision sharpens to its ultimate strength
And I see I see it all
The Body and its Parts
Hollow bones, but not of natural make
Bones of wood, bones of metal, bones of air
Bones forged with knives and heat
Bones that pound and clap and thump
Bones that sound the call of revolution
Bones that map the problems of the world
Bones that beat out existence's final gasp
Flesh rich in its texture
The ScreamConcerning Matthew Bellamy's falsetto.
It's power, raw, unfiltered, untamable
Controlled and steady, cool and calculated
Creation and oblivion in one sound
It pierces ear and mind and soul
Not dull like a butter knife
But hot and sharp like Japanese steel
Notes that float high draw darkness from below
Pitch that gives pleasure with defter touch
Than lovers could ever hope to give
It makes ears sing and hearts dance
The spirit leap and the fingers curl
I hope its master never fails, yet I fear
He'll kill us all with the Scream
Apocalypse PleaseShe walks along the river's edge
The waters black and foul with sludge
No life to be found within their depths
The sun hangs high above the world
Its light blood-red and ominous
Not much heat to be found in its cold gaze
Her shoes are barely holding together
The sharp obsidian underfoot tears into the soles
Finding a way into calloused flesh
Her belly rumbles and her throat burns
She wills them both to silence
Lest their desires utterly consume her
Barren, lifeless, hopeless
That is the world she lives in
If one can call it living
A rare breeze kisses her cheeks
Surprised, she turns her eyes above
To gaze at the unflinching heavens
And with a wry smile
She prays to whatever gods there may be
To start the apocalypse please
Because mankind's already dead
BlissFirst kiss, last kill
Calming tea, action thrill
Sunny days, fresh snow
Vanquished weeds, seeds to grow
Two lovers' touch, a prisoner set free
Building a car, climbing a tree
Little red dress, faded blue jeans
One small success, endless dreams
Love and hate, that and this
These are the things that give us bliss
Execution CommentaryA haiku.
No one knows the cause
Perhaps mushrooms are to blame
But Matt just lost it
ShineThe night goes onward
But my thoughts are lodged like stone
Spinning round one central point
A carousel of fear and doubt
Six strings seek to soothe my soul
But the hands that pluck them are my own
So emotion and voice are lost
Only precision, calculation guide my fingers
I think about the two of us
Me and you, now soon three
What have we done here?
What foolishness wrought?
In this life we have conceived
I remember our first meeting
You were broken, needing, wanting
I became your refuge and your life
You needed saving, and so I saved you
And now our child is coming
But we aren't ready
Then again, who is ever ready?
No books or words can ever prepare you
For a parent's loving duty
The last note dies away
I glance upon your sleeping frame
The dark tresses on the pillow
Your swollen belly outlined in the sheets
And my worries start to fade
I lay my guitar down and creep into bed
The creaks I make whisper of money and sex
As I wrap my arms around you
I can feel the warmth of your body
The rhythm of the dance brings your body to its peak.
The rhythm of your heart leads the tapping of your feet.
The rhythm of your mind moves too fast, is too fleet.
The rhythm of your soul flutters for the one you seek.
The rhythm of your love is a slow and steady feast.
The rhythm of your hate is a wild and angry beast.
The rhythm of the world goes alone on repeat.
The rhythms of the Groove are the ones you can't defeat.
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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