The Spike In Your Hand

If that tiny spark of light were to go out, where would you go to find a bigger one. The clocks in your storehouse clicked, but the hands were missing. You were made by that candle spigot, flowed through the room in cohesion and carefully placed circumference. That letter moved into your mind, as the pain missed your face as pale as stone. It wailed away screaming out into the night wind. The road was found in the past, tressed into loops on the carpet. Your feet wrinkled up, folded down with a wand sparking that encampment. If that fire were to burn so far, would you find a way out of the hole. The wall hadn’t broken out yet, you came forward with the spike in your hand. It sizzled and stirred in furiosity, those maggots skurry for a way out the door. Stay awoken he said, he blessed you with he machine that would cleanse you of all wrongs.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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