Home.
I have not felt the peace and quiet of a place I call home since forever.
I long to run.
The bed in which I sleep, is not nearly as comforting as a bed of pine in the woods.
The rain drums, and I long to flee.
I wish to run in-between the roots of the ceader trees.
I wish to run alongside the wolves.
I wish to run far and free.
I wish to run where the moss grows on the trees.
The rain hits my forehead, blocking out the tears of sorrow.
Sorrow that my soul chose this body to re-inhabit.
I want to go 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Creature Only
PoesíaHuman, just barely. Original on Wattpad. Do not repost. I have copyright What it's like to be a Satanist, queer, furry, and theriothope.
