freed
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November 19, 2017, at 1:29 in the morning, my heart was broken and restored, all in the same moment in time.
That night is imprinted in my memory, and on my hip, in stark black ink.
Music is the drive that moves me from the thorns of a rose up to the ovary.
Where a sweet smell dwells.
I lay in the middle and listen
Healing from the prick of the past thorns
I bleed to the beat and memories flow
As I stare upon these walls they speak of nothing to me.
As I stare upon these walls they hope of setting me free.
As I stare uon these walls it cast a shadow over my longing heart,
