Turnpike Messenger

200_s (5)

A broad and hopeful cubical, found inside the hole of vigorous shame. They walk in a row opposite from one another, running into the shouldered backing. Funny words, become hateful glares in the mid cart. You fight the urge to resist, these workings are obvious in a scounderlistic way. Raising your palm to the light fixture, in wonderment of how it got this bad over time. How did they keep you here all this time, why were you so fond of the punishment. Your eyes were pierced for their recreational hazard, the box broadcasts your dimwitted behavior as if its normalized. You swore you’d never become like this, that it would all be fastened to the floor and securely locked. I do feel the need to tell you, that you brought this bondage on yourself.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger


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