sjsprWriting

My roots made from bone

could not break the stone

that lies under the dirt.

My roots drink pure blood

but here I'll find mud,

tainted and hidden in the dirt.

My roots breathe fresh air

but here lives despair,

a poison that coughs on the dirt.

I'm forcing my leaves and my flowers to sprout.

Regardless if they die.

This soil is what I'm given to work with,

So I will make it mine.

Jungle - Drops

Kero Kero Bonito - Fortune Teller