maelynslavik

they have taken her.

hope.

she is trapped in the great big house made of new money & keys

that open nothing anymore. it is named america.

you can hear her,

We are such a cliché,

boy meets girl,

fall hard and fast.

Our heads are a mess,

would you wait for me?

Obviously.

Too young to think anything through,

I’ve been going to a camp called Crow's Path since third grade. 

And even longer before that, but I can’t remember those days. 

People have come and gone, yes, that’s true, 

i'll use your name. sweet nothings spill

from well-meaning mouths & shatter on concrete radiating summer sun

right back at you, perfect -- dainty -- shiny with dewdrops. they told me