The triads, they blew through the void of glistening sovereignty. Sharp cards fall in the carvings of a bludgeoned embodiment. Thrashing in the corn field, these men brought them inside before the fury. An eruption of currency, enveloped into the worlds ending forward and calling out to them. These ladders stacked as high as mountain tops, for you to relentlessly climb to avoid angry mobs. Pin pricks, see in the holes of paper window seals. Forged like iron clad markings, blues in the ocean floor for there are indeed creatures you did not know of before hand. You picked these nail biters, with their red cherry palm reading in the pantry’s of biases.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger