the burgeoning lips of Mother Spring
caked in dirt and bird spit
covered in Earth and dog shit.
think of this -
the carpenter's hands
firm and eloquent
burned like fir and cherry oak
scarred with birch and woodsmoke
think of this -
a dead bitch
tongue lolling from her mouth
on the side of the highway
where no one will look for her now
a stray dog
becomes a grave thought
and what have we become?
we break our knuckles to build a home
or i'll be South to lay with the dogs
finally off the leash,
still planting flowers in an empty pet cemetery.
this speaks to me in a way I wish I could articulate but I cant at the moment. just know it was important. I think you could do without the first line and just jump into it but honestly I don't give too much of a damn.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja