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A BallerinaShe spun from my head, pointed tips
Running down my locks.
Silk feet, on my dry wires.
She is a butterfly,
Cautious and small.
Trapped in the strands of my head.
Gazing at a world lost.
I heard great big sighs,
Subtle like the wind.
She dances like her last,
Glittered costume shaped in the movement.
Grace was hers.
Her fingers were glass upon my neck.
Small but shivered me.
Close to breaking.
I wanted to feel her skin.
Maybe it was soft and flowed like her dress.
But she ignored my desperate attempts to clutch.
She spun out of my hands but not freely,
Entangled in the hairs of my head,
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More