The Magician With White Hair


The magician with white hair, swings his arms in intricate force below your eyes to belittle your glances. Wide broad strokes, fall outward into the bleak folders overlapping and twinkling. His fingertips twinge, giving out a levered outwitting crumpling revelation. There’s no kindred stare anywhere to be found, in the mockery of a modest archery of kind hearts. They blend in like pretzels, to the one peanut hatched in a cacophony of leaches. They sucked the life out of him, as it watched in discourse laughing at the conquered onlookers.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger


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