The sunflowers are yanked from my grasp.
The only spot of sunlight I see,
Is through the slivers of your finger cracks.
I am choked and dragged below,
To this dank tunnel.
Countless times do I find myself,
Crawling through this thick mud,
Escaping from the gollum,
Ring in hand and throat intact,
I run through the forest.
These trees know my path and struggle.
They sway and change my vision.
Thick bows and strands of their leafy vines,
Slap against my back like the whips
Of condemnation.
I am free,
But this time,
Full of the aches of your pain,
Inflicted through my body,
Telling of my immanent captures.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC
The sunflowers are yanked from my grasp.
The only spot of sunlight I see,
Is through the slivers of your finger cracks.
I am choked and dragged below,
To this dank tunnel.
Countless times do I find myself,
Crawling through this thick mud,
Escaping from the gollum,
Ring in hand and throat intact,
I run through the forest.
These trees know my path and struggle.
They sway and change my vision.
Thick bows and strands of their leafy vines,
Slap against my back like the whips
Of condemnation.
I am free,
But this time,
Full of the aches of your pain,
Inflicted through my body,
Telling of my immanent captures.