the tropic of Capricorn

by Rachel Lynch in


 

Freedom surging through your thunderous blood. I am the arrow of my dreams. I fly by running and submit by dropping to the earth. Mother does not let me stop, she does not let me cave. I am the casual lyricist and she is my spiritual core. Everytime I write it is because of her, for her, I am her. And she is me. Lonely wanderer, lost parts and bones thrusting for a cure. I love the feel of thumbs. The pressure, the perfect circle of skin pushing into my stomach and out again. If I fuck in the forest it is only because I am mad to live, mad to die.

(Photo Credit: Claudia Susana, capturing me wandering through the forest on a dewy morning)