Category Archives: Cowardly Acts

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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To Your Eyes I Bend

The white ghost pursues you in the night, up the stairs you go into oblivion. In the hole you’re fearful to turn your back to the past. The shape of that moment, adherent to the walk down the steps of treasonous blindfolds. They chased you among the stars, within the pillars of magical trips. Your eyes blend in with the sea’s, they were five windfields and bright trees waving their hands up. The road passed through you, couldn’t see it as the planned paper airplanes settled. You were tricked by that presence, hadn’t seen it for more than forty seconds in view. The city streets were blurred, dancing in the sweet melody of blank canvases.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Red Mixture Promises

Watch the leaves fall, in effervescent melody and spears of magnificence. My mouth fills up with prideful wallows, flashy in brimstone and red mixture promises. You were blessed, without fault and canned with thoughts of downturned blazing. It was boastful, inside the skin and bones crawls the words from which you came from. The true face of fear, stares into your sheared and blessed imagination. Hands connecting to the ladder, crawling upward unbounded as the split became clear. Those personal boils, cinched a cold and callous majesty. The go between slitted the barrier, the crack in the ceiling as the light would show through. Why would you pass the torch now, to these final breaths featuring and windfilled lectures.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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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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Energy On Tap

The floor wrapped about my bones, flickering on and off in a measuring brookstone. Clashing together, the rocks hit my mind peering into that overcrowded abyss. I felt numb, apart from myself in the memoriam of making a difference. Followed by a neutral conspiratorial energy, ¬†ascending towards the brief peak of enjoyment. That complete impasse, folded out in the brood of self worthiness. I’m breaking the fall, focused on change but never the moment. An impervious and final blow, brought to the surface of a beast who encouraged careless words. You built a wall entranced in fake matter, it was braced and on a spindle top. I found in the hampering, among the stars and winding roads. Muddled about the dark room, pressurized blanks as you made it out to be.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Black And White Tiled Floors

In your head space, it feels sometimes like there’s a mountain atop your skull. Pressing against your brain, as if it could weigh down just enough to cut off any sort of bodily function to your other extremities. Its at these moments, I feel the most constricted within my own head space, as if a blood vessel pounds away. Like a headache that has no path of loosening, the tight grip on your throat. Your breaths are slow, everything is very skill the movements of things at the corner of your eye trick you. It’s interesting enough, to see if you can follow them. This isn’t always good, if you are trying to focus on getting something finished. Its your eyes possibly peering into another’s existence, but I guess the means for communication doesn’t exist within this realm? I guess its a metaphor, for wanting to reach out but you can’t. Is it real, or just a figment of your imagination?

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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