Wood Chipped Forearms

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Breath into my pathway, run from the varment pursuing your stillness. You sleep on the checkered flag, racing through your head of wondrous catchings.  Your fighters tread in the light of confusion and chaos. The opposition feels a heel pressing against its templed nerves. Legions of four legged creatures, embark on a journey through your desolation. Only fit for the haze, wood chipped grinders and gashes found you in contempt. The kicks are egregious, newly found in forces. Blocks fall to the floor, crashing into the walless shrinking brigade. Slabs cut your hands, figures one to another why we cannot solve this equivocal splendor. Taking deep reverberated slights, rumbling forth in an eccentric leisure. Determination comes at a cost,  are you prepared to take this loss.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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