I'm the quiet girl who wears her skirts too short

The exposure of the world through          
my eyes is weak:

Visions of gardens
Silk flowers and twisted vines, I'm afraid,
Are no longer symbols of beauty
I cannot tell sadness from joy
My future is a broken compass.

I am free, but I have nowhere to go

I am in love, but with nothing in particular.

I know there will come a time where the only moisture will run out, and the ground will crack and crumble

And we will have to leave from this eternal drought- in this land many have called home

In two or two-hundred years- would we still have the one thing to nourish our bodies and repair the crusted soil?

A sentence, a noise, a glance
Admix and shake my stance

Remember the days of easy innocence, where summer was our whiskey
The sky of red and orange and pale purple as the sun set was intoxicating

"Light the fire!" she cries, her hair a golden flame of itself, tasseled and wild-
"Lord of the flies," now she cries, "lord of the flies"

And sometimes we'd be alone but never lonely
Or at least we never realized
Lady Southwest with the chestnut eyes
She's missed it all but somehow endured-

And here I am
I linger on the wonder of little things, and hide behind my boundaries with thoughts that nothing could ever harm me, here