Little horn in the street, its consequence in loving fleet. The oceans blissful and true, in decency I cannot come around you. Carpal bones, floored between the boulders of sequence and loudly tranquil. Finding a natured blow, I glanced into the mirror below my feet. Its as if I could escape these features, if I simply collapsed inside its gaze. Its as if it protects me from myself, from the damage I intend to inflict. You find me trapped within its grasp, you find it within the measurement of a true fixed glass. Will I perish in these walls, so frigid and frail can you hear my call.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger