She floats in the afterbirth of occasion, massively shot outside of the founded mass of wanting a burnt lesion. You watch her from afar, she ignores your advances not because of her indifference. But because there isn’t a fondness, a gifted and dark mantera and forward they move in seclusion. Their light footed and lost, in a universe filled with floods of belligerent fires. They burn as they draw stiletto’s to the ground, painting a monstrosity in elusive defiance. You want to intertwine, you want to interact but something keeps you guessing. She looks the the prizm, shaping the dialect as they see fit. These words have no meaning, they begin to find out what all of this is for. Will you struggle with her, or press against the suppression. Resistance is pointless, you will bleed no matter the resolution.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger