I had once herd a tale of both gooblins and goblins
that hide by the house on the hill full of robins

where no cats would lie
not a feline in site
in that case nor a horse and toboggan

If when the sun set
by your luck you'd have met
a most suddenly sense, you'll most likely regret

to inform that the norm is is most vital
a chorus recital while sleeping, the feeling is seeping
of course,   he fears for the reaping

To come?
Is it done?
has it happened?

No third party captions
his captor
a mind full of rapture

to hear ever after
a rapping, a tapping
his own hands just clapping

the door doesn't move
but the grooves in the wall are expanding
these dreams so demanding

Demented dimensions
his body retention of fear and the queer
have him panting

gasps without asking
a sublime such as this
and the temperance of bliss

have the curtains been called
or is it all but a miss
guided ventures of vengeance

His soul but a remnance of courage
is left in the depths
and before us he slept

such a man who believes
in trees where the robins at ease
do enjoy such a breeze

That breath air in the room
where he lay quite awake
Till his wake

Take me to the places I've dreamed,
the ones inside my mind.
The faces I don't recognize,
but I know that they're my kind.
Their voices are unknown,
stuck inside my head.
And the worst time
when they come to me most,
is when I lay upon my bed.
I can remember
gourds made into art
and the times when I was younger,
my mind fuzzy and blurred.
So take me back to those places,
so I might remember what
I'd heard.

I once had a small purple vase.
It was almost a year old.
But I remembered how my ex and I blundered
And all of his things had to go.

I gave away his sweatshirt
His shorts and shirts got burned
And the teddy bear he gave me
Was torn apart by the people who mean most to me.

He gave me a purple vase.
It was wrapped pretty in a bow
Once it had living flowers
But now I had to let it go

I went outside with my true family
And recorded my final blow
Of shattering the vase
On the ground below

I felt the ricochet
Of a piece run astray
And my baby exclamed to me
That I cut myself indeed

And thats when I realized
How my last relationship was really through
Because if I cut my head with the other one
He wouldn't have held my hand to help me
He would have let me do it on my own
And not even checked on me
I know this for sure
Because it happened once before

I feel free now for sure
That all his things are out my home
And once I see my baby's things replace them
It becomes the final bow

For once I see no remnance of him
I think I'll truely feel clean
Once my forehead heals
And memories repress
I'll finally be able
To fully put him to rest

A lullaby remembered
Remnance of night Conversation between the piano n a flute
Mother and daughter duet
Floads my being with memories
How could I have forgotten
It's what I needed to make do with brokenness
A bravado to fend off, to show strength
Truth is brokenness, exist reaffirmed by a lost lullaby

Takes me back before time made sense
When mum was my universe and I was hers
I love her all my life, she loves me my lifetime

recursive tones in melodic notes of
healing.
just your own to listen, instead of to be heard.
hypnotic colorful tessalation, crafted in fugue, filling your mind with ease.
do not fear, the origin: benevolence.
alas reflections of shadows constructing fractions of the source of fractions of remnance of the whole.
Just enough truth, with trust, is a gift from the creator.

I
You came to me that night with singed thoughts
spinning wildly around me as you questioned-
the universe.

I could only watch as you carved madness into scraps of paper.
While your skull met my bedroom wall
again
and again
and again.

Only for you to run into the street and set fire to your findings.
It was then that you spoke to me for the first time that night

I need to go to the hospital.

II
Folding my self into the chairs of the only emergency room I trusted
I counted my breaths.
As your mother counted the ways that this was her fault.

Until they unlocked the maze of doors that lead to your sterile prison.
But there were still no answers,
only therapeutic needles to the hips meant to mute the mania.
But it could only stun yours to sleep long enough to be moved
to a bigger behavioral prison

III
The next three days were a series of
waiting rooms
phone calls
safe words
and locked doors.
Waiting through a supposed 72 hour hold.

But in this world weekends don't count.

And once again I found myself folded into a waiting room
as I met your grandparents.
Immediately forgetting their names
because all I could do was wonder,

If my sanity was falling just as fast as you were.

IV
I found you barefoot in a new pile of paper madness,
careening in a suicide proof wasteland.
Your eyes seared through my sockets as you whispered to me-
I want out.

But your blood was polluted with experimental drugs
and your fingers were twitching for a nicotine fix you couldn't get.

You some how managed to silence your body long enough
to convince them your mind had followed.
And that for you weekends do count.

V
You came back to me no longer singed but burning.
They eradicated your sanity and pretended to send it home with you
in a bottle of pills.

I watched you piece what was left of it back together.
So now we could wade through the remnance-
and wait

for it to all happen again.

Patiently waiting
To see what unfolds
Though my heart seems to know
This story and how it goes
The tale this time seems a little different
I am watching with my eyes half opened half closed
Like a beautiful sunrise that blinds you
yet comforts you with it's warmth
Your essence is like a crash of waves
But it seems to wash away my fears
I can't swim but I'm ready to dive in
I can't breathe but I'm ready to inhale
I'm hoping you won't be disappointed
As my scars unveil
There are no waves big enough to erase the remnance of pain
But you are the big one I've been waiting for

We are empty souls
Screaming in the abyss
Do you remember me
Voices thought buried
Dig themselves up
Unearthed again
A haunting
Cheap as ****** in the street
Cobblestone streets
Holding liquor penance
Splicing together
The history of our remnance
Ghosts thinner than walls
Lighting up lanterns
In the street
Moaning
This is the way
Will you follow me
Do you remember me
Am I nothing to you
Only paper towns and matches
Dry kindling to memory
Flames waltzing
To tunes older than love
Ivory keys remember
Being elephants
When they were younger
And the world
Not so at sorts
Children in the street
Recognizing more tongues
Than their own
Witches singing in an alley
Do you know me
When I held you on my knee
Do you remember
Spells whispered into water
Washing away sorrow
Sins
And memory

Along the Prarie
Sofia Drougas

As I walked, I noticed the dull skies around me. They were blue, but they seemed to be weeping. I watched as crows pecked every last crumb off of the dry, cracked ground. People around me stopped and stared as I walked by. They were in ragged, torn clothes that probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. Their faces were drained of color, the bones on their cheeks were outlined by the hollowness of their faces. Children cried of hunger. I sighed and looked ahead, too pained to watch any longer. My long skirts were swishing around my ankles. I looked back once more. The skirts that they wore climbed up to their calves, revealing their bare legs. I walked on. I saw more of the people, huddled together in an alley, trying to keep warm. They ran to me, hands stretched to the sky, begging, crying for money. I had none to spare. I promised to return with bread for the family. I ran to escape their needy fingers. I walked when I could run no more. I was breathing heavily, panting like a dog in need of water. I stopped to rest for a minute. As I stood, I saw trees, stripped of their leaves in the distance. I saw birds flying across the scorching, hot prairie. I felt the gentle breeze, barely detectable across my face. This was home. I had lived here all of my life. I was born here, in the vast, cracked land. I had never seen a rainstorm in all of the time I had lived here. Rain came and went, like a bee flying from flower to flower, never stopping too long at each.
“Hello.” I didn’t turn around. This is the reason why I walked all of the way here, through the burning sun. I didn’t reply. Instead, I waited for him to speak.
“I’ve missed you,” were his next words.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Almost a year.” To me, it had seemed like a year, multiplied by ten.
“One too many.” I turned, and saw his sweaty, *****, smiling face, sun burned from his journey.
“Come with me. To my home. Live with me. Forever.” I responded with silence. “We’ll be happy together. We will walk, every day, in the presence of the rising sun. We will never be deprived of food or water. We will always have what we need. You will never have to work again,” he said, trying to convince me to leave my home.
“I….I can’t.”
“Why can’t you? You have nothing here. No one left. No animals, no company to visit you. All you have is me, and you won’t come?”
I did have things here. I had memories. Memories of my childhood, memories of my mother and father, long before they were killed. Of my younger sister, Maurice, and my older brother, Joseph. I remember us playing together. These memories were safely kept in remnance of our past: in the old toy box, still in the same place, in the photos placed by my mother on the fireplace mantel, and in my family’s old rooms, untouched since they all left. I couldn’t leave.
“You are not all I have.”
“Then what do you have? Tell me one thing, and I will be satisfied.”
“I have memories of childhood, of my mother and father. I have old things which my family owned. But more importantly, I have faith. I have courage. I have lived by myself for fifteen years, and in that time I have learned to hunt, to gather plants that I could eat. I found water in a field that was completely dry. I have learned to survive. By learning that, I have also found strength within me. I am not a little girl. I  do not want to have servants wait on me all day and night. I want to care for myself. I already walk, every day, in the presence of the rising sun, and in the presence of the setting sun. I have all I need and want. I am happy. God had provided for me. I do not want to go with you to your land of servitude and so-called happiness… But since I am so dearly fond of you, and if you are willing to give up what you have now, please, come live with me, in my warm little home. Bring your animals. Bring your clothes. Bring whatever you please. I assure you that you will find great comfort in having just enough to live by. A life without distraction.”
“I cannot leave my home. I must go. I do hope that someday, we may meet again.” I turned away as tears ran down my cheeks.
“Please stay with me… I want you to stay.”
“I must go. Don’t be sad. Will I see you at the fair in the summer?”
“I hope so. Goodbye…”
He waved, then turned and walked away, into the sunset. The sky was the most magnificent colors: red, yellow, orange, pink, and purple. As he grew smaller, I turned, wiping the tears out of my eyes. I walked south, along a road that was well trod upon. A road that was familiar. It seemed to be calling my name, beconing for me to return home, where I would always belong.