Category Archives: Money

Little Runt Dweller

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Pyramid embroiled in delicious treason, the kindred spirit cannot skamper from his devious pleasures. These blended lesions, starcrossed from beginnings of damming miniature skins and lashings. Percentages outweigh the blood filled whimpers, in the mouths of a tumbling ghost ship. Draining funds from the wounds of a frightened legion. Hearts discharging, seeping through the skin moving ever so near the destination. Weapons held the world together, on a tilted beam of light. Buildings upright, in the scalpel of fun and an embassy. Shower them in your hope, for it is a forgery of injustices and mood rigor. Were you precise in balance, blending into the tree’s hiding from the predators of the twilight. Dancing atop the water, with the moonlight caressing your eye sight embellished in magnetism.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Hello Little Digit

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I am sure to die in a cataclysmic mercury, finite in worth and composition in lifted brigades. These missions over envelop the water beds, crashing into the planet’s futures in folly an equations assured. I was self made, oven baked and ready to be serviced to the courts of public judgement and sequential formalities. These fortune tellers battle for activity blowing outward in similarities in virtual swellings. These corporatized entity’s shell out  annually in bleak exploration of a simulation. Two dissimilar rooms, folds into the modern day wishes for a more secure tear aways. The essential desires, and cutlery imagined forward and wanting a magnetized forgery.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

I Don’t Believe In Fairytales

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This isn’t a story for the faint of heart, the enemy at the gates blends into the floor boards with their chained linked shoe prints. Filled with a blinded fowl, the birds flew in unison with the strangest of candor. Blood dripped on the blouse, of the woman for it isn’t a precious faculty and solid trident. They pierced your skin as if it were cold as ice, not penetrating any skull or bones in the wake of motionless candidacy. The plants that were all fluid, they began to decay and wilt of the mention of your endangered willpower. She pears into your soul, with eyes so fiery into antiquated morality.  Drenched in sweat, pouring our of your eyelids and unrequited whispers.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

Zealous Barbarians

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The triads, they blew through the void of glistening sovereignty. Sharp cards fall in the carvings of a bludgeoned embodiment. Thrashing in the corn field, these men brought them inside before the fury. An eruption of currency, enveloped into the worlds ending forward and calling out to them. These ladders stacked as high as mountain tops, for you to relentlessly climb to avoid angry mobs. Pin pricks, see in the holes of paper window seals. Forged like iron clad markings, blues in the ocean floor for there are indeed creatures you did not know of before hand. You picked these nail biters, with their red cherry palm reading in the pantry’s of biases.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

The Prince Of Intention

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Bright and bold charlatans, moving along side proof of purchase in a store of candid pastorians. These hunters focus their eyes in a water bed riddled with bonuses. Stranded in a car floor, trapped screaming its majester. These fighters brace for the fall, encompassing and in a summer fled oath. Gold markings, it hasn’t seen its brightest day in a long while. Gaping holes, impenetrable and lazy on the mounted doorway. The continents falls into to the oceanic breeze, compressed with blood soaked towelettes. Pacing back and forward, for the feast of injustices done to the boys in these strangers lives. We didn’t love you, we instead failed to see the worth in our wonderment and tired hushed light.  The apples fall, they hit the steal with a glorious jolt of damage. He views the party below him, scratching his neck of the filthy stench abroad.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

Flashed Red In The Caverns

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Bulls on the midway carts, divulged in solace in the bakery. Their eyes gleamed with a relevant imagination. Red doesn’t come from a planet of commercialism. In beams for you, so it can conceal a maker in a gag order. The rarity make a quick getaway from a world of kindness and generalizations. These tapping’s emerge, into the blank spaces of agonizing metals. And unsurpassed representation of the incandescent, broadened strokes of the paint brush. Its made of iron rods, for it is comforting and radiant in ones inebriation. You believe in control, it is so incompetent in a setting of angered and unskilled merchants.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

The Magician With White Hair

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The magician with white hair, swings his arms in intricate force below your eyes to belittle your glances. Wide broad strokes, fall outward into the bleak folders overlapping and twinkling. His fingertips twinge, giving out a levered outwitting crumpling revelation. There’s no kindred stare anywhere to be found, in the mockery of a modest archery of kind hearts. They blend in like pretzels, to the one peanut hatched in a cacophony of leaches. They sucked the life out of him, as it watched in discourse laughing at the conquered onlookers.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger