Little green pigeons, first in line to be shoved out of the door. Out into a cold world that doesn’t embrace their kind. They didn’t know what hit them in these musical notes of vitriol and detriment. Canon oil and excrement, a valiant wasteland into the brink of doom. And iron circumference, traces backward throughout the mega landing. Unable to bring it in the well bellied acidic, nature is cut out of the will of candies and fruit bakeries. It is sweet, to feel the breeze that you once understood but is smaller than a mote of cheese. This bitter anguish is pierced in your skin, it can be felt like a mighty rushing wave come to crash the party of the maggots who occupy your lands.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger