she spent her days under the aspen trees
daydreaming of better times
chasing the idea of a different life
cradled by damp moss and dirt
drowning out the smell of coors and stale cigarettes
her pen and paper
the promise of a new day
her story unwritten
dirt in her nails
tangled locks
lace dresses and combat boots
skinned knees from the day before
open wounds
inside her heart
pumping blood at a rapid pace
preparing to run
to get away
far away
to the land beyond
where unicorns have magic horns
and fairy dust exists
and little girls are held tight
protected
from the monster
three doors down
who’s words cut her to pieces
swallow her whole
until she no longer exists
nothing but nothingness
under the aspen trees