southern--gothica

[southern--gothica]

you sold your soul. the devil has come to collect.

sitting under the water oak that's drenched in spanish moss. the air sprinkled with humidity and the scent of star jasmine. you make yourself a crown of clover as you think about the day you're going to die.

[southern--gothica]

no matter how far i try to run, home will always be home. i can resist, i can protest, i can scream and deny - but home will always be home. and sometimes i have to go back. i may not realize it until i'm there, but it rejuvenates me. it recharges my energy. no matter how much i may despise from where and whom i was born, it's home. and i need to go back, even just for a little while. i need to be reminded of where i come from and why i left in the first place.