The animal knocks your brain back and forth. Your jeans rub your inner legs raw. In the rain, steam fires out of his nostrils, and the fine, sticky mist clings to your tongue.

Your hand is chipped beef, choking by the noose you wrapped around it. It is numb and crimson like an inflamed carcass.

This chocolate, brown mare is racing against himself. His muscles are straining, while yours are spasming.

Into the evening, the charcoal clouds in bloom, and a drizzle that cuts into your sight. You're bound for a destination that exists outside ideas, a place only the mare knows.

He kicks up mud high enough to paint your back. Your hair tangled in clay, leaving thin welts on the back of your neck.

The land has become a blanket of water and dirt... grass drowning below the surface.

Your mind is storming with the weather. Thoughts tossed to the marsh land, and boundries tasted and swallowed.

All you have are these bullets pelting your body, destroying your speed, and yet it slides together perfectly.

It must be horrible to gain freedom in the rain. You're left with a soaked body, no nerve endings, and lost comfort. This is all worth it to you, for freedom has its price, and you paid it long ago.

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