On The Brink


Eyeless canape stretches further out, in the loving arms of an angry brute. It must be rattling to realize what you know isn’t real, to be forgotten in times of trouble for it isn’t long. Black eyeless brisk with hate, fill the room with eternal warmth. You can’t win such a war, without a mere comprehension of strategy. Blue peaks of desolation crawl into the coals, as they pierce the skin of the adulterer’s infamy. Letters peek, in wonder of the coming purge. Puppeteers fear the uninitiated, in the meek meant condition blankets that scream for assistance in agony of the truth. Could you feel it coming, it isn’t simplicity that binds you into the makeshift room of fabrication.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger


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