I watch this darker figure pursue me, beneath the crest of forethought. Figures in which you can’t see, but more sense they are present. These beings aren’t threatening, in fact they do not wish to be acknowledged at all. They are simply passing through as a formal energy as it were. This black air seeped through the vents of time, I brought to the texturized belief in a loved mixture. We imagine these things, as if we can comprehend them. But it isn’t as pure, in fact we made it fond of the unknown. Like writing words without a pen and paper weight. You find that pleasures are meaningless, funds that are sacred. Tossed in the wind, hoping to find truth in a boundless society.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger