Your words cook with rage filled mindlessness, you lost in mere seconds of discovering the filthy rags on the ground. These zealots were victimless, timeless in leisure blinded by a folded morgue. You did not sell bandages, they were penniless in those figures. They spoke with the baseless intention, they didn’t find you in a streamlined motion. The shelves were encountered and wasteful, those worlds hadn’t been able to cross over. Your brain filled with gap, it didn’t have a basis for time. But you still found truth, you still tracked it down somewhere in a fund of baseless envelopes. Blending into crimson, comforting without bases and conditioning. Your sustainability is counterfeit, you are blessed by the flames of mediocrity.
Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger
Looking for new writers to collaborate with, if there’s an interest email me. =)
Follow On Twitter
Buy My Book