C S Bailey

Life inside a psychopathic balloon C S Bailey

Life inside a Psychopathic Balloon, Its description can now resume. Attempting to rhyme the synopsis, By using finely tuned harmonics. Short stories will be told, They are hopefully entertaining, brash and bold. Poems will be sang thanks to the spoken word, To the asylum shall my thoughts be referred? Drabbles that keep your attention until their closure, Like this one, Game Over... My hand's drenched in blood. It'll soon dry and will agitate the fine hairs on my hand causing an itch. Peering over the busted skull, it's hard to feel guilty. I mean, life is all just a form of deceptive progression; and in our reality, you forced my hand. I warned you time and time again. I pleaded with you, almost begging you to stop, yet your persistence was the key for the lock of my patience. You didn't stop until I was forced to react. Maybe in the next life, you will desist from sending me bloody game requests.