Wreckage Finds Its Place

Covered head to toe in vines, they constrict my breath as its chilled and sweat drips from my mouth and forehead. Tightening around the neck, struggling to push out any life that may be present or foretold. Bottles fell down off the ledge, crashes like a car that burned to the tune of a jealous malate. Hissed into your ear, as it charred your insides from no worry of anyone but its own volition. Was it backward, did you press play on the tape recorder and jam your nail. Your panic set in, it swirled disturbing your view that was never placed into the flame. Attributed to you,  it snapped away quickly withdrawing as you attempted to saw away. It was admitted once that you’d regret this, that you’d find it difficult to rebuild this wreckage.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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