maelynslavik

it is dark at night 

not the type of dark 
i may envy 

the type that frightens me 

the unknowing of the present 

I am someone who is waiting on a dock in the middle of the night. There is a gross, green electric light shining on me. There is something out in the waves. 

Take me to the Karakoram Road, I beg—

Where the mountains meet the rivers, 

Entwined with the pathways of cracked cement