the peachy bruises on the horizon are silently heralding the chorus of dawn across the virgin sky and i'm lying in the green gleaming grass and there's the crowing cocks and the chiming bells and the swaying sapphire swings and the moaning november wind and the stars dotting the sky like leftovers from the milky way's dinner and it smells like freedom and dry earth but somehow nothing compares to it-- this feeling of being alive. not the grand concept of living and dying but this feeling of just being in this place in this moment with time seeping through the edges of my eyelids like paint from a brush and my heart singing.
