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Description
In death’s eyes sorrow lingered once
Seeing her life torn apart
The shackles fell to see her free to walk the earth
In her eyes life is present still
Through the day I watch her sleeping
I hold her close forever more
Till the rains fall no more
Till the nights no longer find us here alone
Till the rains fall no more
Till the night no longer finds us here alone
Seeing her life torn apart
The shackles fell to see her free to walk the earth
In her eyes life is present still
Through the day I watch her sleeping
I hold her close forever more
Till the rains fall no more
Till the nights no longer find us here alone
Till the rains fall no more
Till the night no longer finds us here alone
Source
not provided yet
I won’t lie, in my mind it wasn’t that profound and rather a straight forward thing I meant to portray.
I wanted to explain it in my previous comment, but I couldn’t find the word I was looking for at the time: nurturing.
“Wrong” actually is the right word when looked at from a different perspective though, that being the lens of self-harm. A bleeding wound horizontally along the arm (or in this case foreleg) is a common appearance of cutting as self-harm. SH is a deeply personal and private thing, so when applied to this touchingly positive form of interaction, as someone who has dealt with SH I can tell you, it’s just wrong, to where I feel agitated, moved by it. Vitriol, if you will. That’s an art unto itself, and frankly this piece is pretty inspiring to me in this aspect.
Hah, aye!
Aw, why does it feels wrong?
Agree with you about this being a vibe i wouldnt mind being a part of. Oddly chill in a way.
Thank ya, lad