emilydawnstrider

October 19th I arrived at home a pure soul but I retreat a mosaic of soles. Yes, I have been stepped on, I have been led and brought on, spat on, had the rod on, been beat and been broke. At least you like my lyric. At least your bootmarks no longer ache and glow hurt-red. Marks, my words when they pelt the ground, raindrops falling but not on my head; they cool my wounds. Even nature is sympathetic. It gives you a sun today and an excuse to burst from your dungeon. I say take that chance. There is a want for freedom there. Boot-march is a twisted soundtrack there and it has gotten old; the bright thoughts of bright leaves and the dear face