Category Archives: depression

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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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 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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Sacrificial Lighthouse

Enough explanation could not be said, for it goes without saying how often tragedy binds us. With those few and far between momentarily final weights. The back and forth push along, the avoidance in a facetious components. You shiver as you quest out from where it began. Scratching the mind, with blending mausoleums. The people wished to be uprooted, from the graves of self comes denial. They were buried deep within the ground. The words of those who were once acknowledged, those were passing and decayed. Flinching did they know, we’re you found in that hole. It was fine, insistence on a bleaching eyelash. Dipped in the blood, sacrificial circumstances didn’t find you well this time. It lit up, like a bug fixing a hole in its nest.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Could Not Find It All Here

Screaming in your ear, like a connection of broadband to the networks. They search for the data to continue the function, an army of numbers filled the circuits. Single file lining, it twirled awaiting your indulgence furiously. An explosion ever so tingling in your flickered light manifesting in a tuned wind draping. Abrupt and robust abbreviations, slathered on your wall within the drapes like candy coated fruit snacks. Neverware and fondly in remembrance, rainbows aren’t really colors at all. They gleam and glisten, as if they were crystals on a undiscovered planet for the first time. The views are yet distorted, inferior and complaining of any sort of folly. Little toy’s you used to enjoy, now disappear but its quite fine now you haven’t lost it all.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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