Category Archives: confusion

Another Run At The Wall

Don’t push me in the dirt, I’ll make you regret every bit of blood you spilled. Those lies you told the congregation, like a library filled with dirty old books that no one reads anymore. I had a feeling it would come to this, can you feel the blade piercing your side as the pain sets in nice and slow. Slicing forward and true, you edged out in mere seconds from a pathway of malice. The air smells of death and Iron, like a clasp of steel tones creeping inside and yelling for help. You were a devil, yet still unwilling to favor in front of your sinful ways. Could there be any strongholds in your wake, making sure you could not pass through. I asked you once, you glanced in the opposite direction in swift danger.

Chris

Rebels Consciousness Founder Creator and Contributor

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For The Dead

I can’t believe we keep passing these short paths of indecency, my mind can’t comprehend this inconsequential mix of blank features. I don’t know where this will take us next time, the future is involuntary and uncertain. What is the timing of this, and where does it lead and how can we fight against this blank space. I’ve mentioned it before, but it truly hasn’t passed and I’m not sure if it will. Will be find solace, will there be some type of answer in the agony. The notes of the song, are interchangeable and we are blessed in order for time to become one with us. The parachute hasn’t deployed and we plummet to the ground, strangers look at us upon the rocks. Waiting for us to crash into the ocean floor, but never having the intention of safety.

Chris

Rebels Consciousness Founder Creator and Contributor

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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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Writing Has No Destination

Writing is like a staple, it fiercely penetrates the skin. You never understand why its there, until its out on the page. But its something you did to yourself, it had to be brought out because you couldn’t do anything more if it hadn’t. There’s no goal, there’s reason no reason for any of it honestly. It’s like shaving your head, getting rid of all the little strands of hair is difficult but you feel free when its done. A potential gun to the head, as it presses against your temple. It waits for you to act, but has an idea that you would choose the other way. You have to hurt yourself, to find the peak. The sky point, just right before the falling. I guess its the most dangerous thing you can do. Because its the most vulnerable you are, there’s nothing like putting some on paper.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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A Porcelain Shrine

A blotched out imagination, it hides just behind your words that were unspoken. A truth never made known, can you feel it pulsing into your eye holes. Feathered out storms, your mouth hadn’t lost the words. They were yellow with traitorous fixtures, unfathomable they bled from your porcelain shrine work.  Like a child’s play, incursions aplenty and blamed for that tragic endway.  You pushed against the wind, it chimed with the noise in your ear as it buzzed repeatedly choking your tones. The stairs were red, they couldn’t be seen for they were invisible. Helmets with a hundred head’s, addressed with encapsulation, buried in the sand without a hand to hold you.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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The Moon Lit Storeway

Fun and in encapsulation, burrowed in the stomach. That creature fell into a undocumented furrow. The water splashed about, covering your eyes from the damage within the clear picture. That confusion, and unshakable atrophy hadn’t been dealt with once before. You were sleeping, without a doorway to crawl underway. Those convoluted, and ungainful measures were broken in the mirror and pain. That prisoner watched your incorruptible pressure,  that lightning flashed in your eye lids and broke the skin. A thought is just shy of oblivion, could you be anymore condescending in truth. I despise this wound, that filled me up with regret and broken promises. Its like a hurricane, crashing and moving into your walls. That storm you warned us of, its pressure mounted on top of that pear and was done with it again.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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The Man With No Resolution

It began with a whimper, then a trust worthy sigh. That I frankly never wished was so. Uncanny he came, sweeping you off your feet with fast promises. Never blaming or casting doubt into the winds. He first took your sight, which came from the skies on insults. I blissfully recall this action, I didn’t ask for this much more than that. I can still feel it coming over the hillside, smashing feet like a thousand drums beating me down. He was once a clown, drenched in the sweat of the masses laughter. But it was all a show, it all became known throughout the memory. Of things that had passed through before. I guess we’ll never hear the truth, it would never come without the price.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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