M.

she has oceans in her eyes that wash up on the shore of her skin

and strands of golden hair carressed by the summer sun

her mind is a storage container

filled with confusions and misconceptions

lines jumbled

incoherent echoes of advice given to a girl with an empty heart

and feelings she lost in the wind

her age is young

but her soul is old

she devours life, holds it in the palm of her hand

she dreams of pretty things

and thinks of pretty dreams

By S. Cyr