The gust of chilled air hit my lungs, collapsing into them like a sledge hammer breaking down a stone wall. I lay in the meadow as my shoulder blades pressed into the gravel, no where to bend to any sort of damage. It was already passed, it came and went from my mind’s eye intertwined in conditions perceived before me. It hadn’t occurred once, not one single time. The blue walls help many bells and whistles, they clinged to your paintbrush and sang out in unison. A withering eye sight, casts out into the water front it cannot be less incarcerated or measured in solution. Further from the inflamed overpass, it breaths and becomes deflowered with every passing moment.
Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger
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