Category Archives: Disaster

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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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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Bled Down The Railing

Gnashing teeth, on a cord with a spark plug interlined. They were hundred full, outwind and brushed encrusted with caring features. That awestruck string, with the key within the window seal glancing at your fortwit. Bled down the railing, of the cuff noises that could never be canceled from a chiming tune. Brisk and broadened, one mere choice hadn’t been closed out in a bleak formation. That rock clashed in tune, with the groundskeeper who made it with golden schillings. That bloated pulsating beer guzzling bear, snarled as it shined in the moonlight. It smiled and winked, in pursuit of a great blessing. You couldn’t find the time, it hadn’t pressed the button to dawn. Fighting for every word, you can’t believe it was so shameful.

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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Short And Impotent

The fun phases in and out, the black doesn’t have any kind of pattern. It simply put is, and cannot blend into any other shades. Finding out that it hadn’t been long before, the great and powerful thunderous and capable of true fear. The picture fizzles and flocked, you thought you had imagined the scheme. Little blights, it figured you’d bend to the willpower without a single tear in your eye. Strangers happening, for you could not envision this trifled mess. Taking a huge untitled risk, you found it to be short of any kind of potency.  Those blank and tireless emotions seeped through, like a skinless goat unfeathered and worn. Those noises you hear, they aren’t human and they never were before now.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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