No one know’s you, they can’t track your ever changing patterns. Squares phase into other shapes, which morph into flat footed prints. Recruitment’s are strange, nay they are incomplete in those motional circles. You build a foundation of sand, it crashed beneath your feet without a single tear and flooded. The gates were trespassed, an incomprehensible and diabolical chamberlink. Latching in the mouths, folded like a towel embroiled and cast iron. Success is arbitrary, I blotted out your signature without a callus or configuration of a meaning. Your acts were sponged away, you were found imaginative and cathartic. Crossing your fingers, within the mud filled holes and in a pleasing motion.
Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger
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