What pleasures do you seek, running from the unrelenting pressures of naturalization. Fever pitch, in the quotations of what they need you to be. Effortless continuation, over a billion other mindless cares of the vanguard. Pursuing with spears made of glass shards, purchasing the wanting of forward advancement. You push out the butchers of the bland and bewildered, society finds you grasping for your throat. Air escapes your twin bed, frothing in the wilderness coming out of hiding. The hateful compass, it brings a stench of ever baring intrigue. Teething they clinch, snapping your gums inward clasping one two word syllables. These cities bring a chaotic measurement, you fend for yourself in truth and candor. Peaking atop a formal destination, your struggle to find an equation when its not even visible.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger