A house party,
Lola is sobbing in the corner,
someone has the code to denote our home,
I heard it whispered in and out of your zones,
It’s already been concieved,
we can not abort,
you ask her “can we write what has already been written?”
The sacrificial goat is hard to hug,
If you touch her will she be able to stand?
I hear her sighs, they sound like my cries,
In her eyes I see the repeated innocence’s stolen,
I will go first I say,
I tye my hair in a bun,
she has already been bought
I lift a small curly ringlet in my hand and I see a little girl,
an old alcohol bottle rolls back,
more edits,
I hug her close our tears become a river of one,
I hear a gentle “Alysia” erasing all the harsh syllables of the past,
we turn around,
brown white skin smoothed,
A familiar smile rushes us into a fit of laughter,
And finally the edge looks like the safe house we always dreamed of