Shivers insightly, in the moon lit forgery insulated in scrimmages. Fondly insinuating the broken shilvery once found in a whisper and cleanly outdated. These showers pour onto you, you can feel the cold wet backlash in the shoreline. The moister hits the greenery, as it screams to be filled for it is gluttenas. It gags, suffering and frothing at the mouth in a purely isolated and secret that never was told. We’ve all come so far to stop now, we are swines in our own guilty pleasures. We all fell foolish, in a damming place full of unwanted inquires and chain letters. You write these words in someone else’s blood, smeared with the innocence of the ones that basked in holy anguish.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger