The Old Wooden Frame

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Creakily obtrusive, maddening sounds of whimsical tranquility. Its brought into the store house, slammed down as it bursts within the maniacal bridging. There’s a brief consensus, into which you abstain from making an honest design. These ships aren’t baseless, for it is mindful of the menagerie of grateful powers. For if not for glass houses, would we not be prepared for the immanent contestant. Its wood seems inured, making blissful insinuations, as if it was abruptly damming its carpenters designs of quickening spinelessness. Its gutless fancy, bravely hinting at the damage that you held to its throat. Threading betrayal, as once made bare in encompassing and ragged door frames. Its bowels cry out in an amazing sound of holiness, it is educational to bring in children to sit. They await instructions on the new designs, the propaganda may now be split.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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