These mongrels came for you in the moment of anguish, advertised as sensible prism’s in the boat filled with water and lacerations. Cut deeply, in form from the outer spaces. Accompanied by withered and wrinkled mantels, in which you become less favorable. Bloated and packed with privileges. Did he promise you these riches, did these things become your space of pleasures. Stacked one on top of the other, you begin to feel the pressure of adulthood. These pyramids are breaking your stride, you fall to the ground as it gives. Your knee’s buckle, as the sands of time pierce your wit and valor. Crunching and invigoration, it laughs at your attempts to keep afloat crashing into your shield afoot for the feast.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger