Zoe Guillory

In the early morning, she is lying on the floor. He kneels and whispers, 'I love you.' And whishes he was sorry. He doesn't want to move, so he stays, dreaming about what they could have had if she would have only listened to him. He shakes his head, floating between dreaming and waking, knowing that they're coming to take him away from her forever.

He stares down at her. She is pale and covered with blood and bruises. She doesn't look like a real person. Everything seems strange, like a dream. Like a nightmare in which you lose everything. Light shines through the bloody windows, like an enchanted forest, the dappled shadow of the red leaves rippled on her silent body. He peers through the door, waiting, and thinking of years ago when he first met her. First loved her. First controled her. But years is only the day before yesterday. He is still trying to believe that they will never take her body. but the house is cracking open, because last night, he made her perfect. He made her his.
...

So I was left along,
waking from a forced sleep,
my head resting on a pillow of leaves.
Brown leaves that had dried weeks ago.
...

Three small children played under the trees,
giggling as the crimson leaves
floated down onto their soft, innocent hands.
They ran about after eacher other
...

I am from paintbrushes,
spilled out chaotically on the kitchen table
like dry leaves lying in the coulee.
I am from gathered dust
...

A puppy- smaller than a man's palm- cries
for its mother. Too young for open eyes.
Its legs barely move. But its hunger hurts.
It crawls in circles on weak paws; whimpers
...

But I am a stranger to Silence.
The train passes by, small hands
and faces pressed against the windows.
Watching the station zoom by. Eager.
...

I am lost, exploring Wonderland in fear.
They speak in circles around me;
colors turn to sounds.
Paths among the endless trees
...

As I stand out gazing at the fantasical landscape before me,
I see the waterfalls breaking water and throwing it around amoung
the glittering, curling plants as they drink the sparkling silver water.
It was breathtaking.
...

There was a paradise that ruled long ago.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
More beautiful than the human eye can ever perceive;
...

You turn your face towards the sun,
hoping that it will warm you.
And yet, your back is to the moon,
but you don't try to change it.
...

Though the world on the other side of the river
is peaceful, you don't take more than a glance.
You allow your emotional war to continue,
hoping that someone-anyone-will notice the pain,
...

The rustle of leaves,
The patter of tiny feet,
The whisper of the river,
The stillness of the air,
...

Mockingbirds are the only
birds to sing all the colors.
The most beautiful of them all
is the saddest, and she sings
...

Though the world
just beyond the darkness
in which the girl was
curled up was unreachable,
...

I was born at a drumbeat,
the blare of a trumpet.
A homecoming parade
to mark my arrival.
...

A house for the dead who are not dead.
A cage, a prison where you hold your abusers.
Beautiful on the outside. Inviting.
Like a mansion, welcoming and decorated.
...

Tiny, brown, innocent eyes
that have only seen the world for a year
peer over the cheep, run-down wood
as gentle, yet clumsy fingers
...

Reach out and rewind your clock before
it melts away like the flow
of crimson from a dying animal
that slowly loses its color,
...

I sit quietly under the trees, staring at my barrier of leaves.
They whisper against each other, telling me the stories
of a long-forgotten past. Of a world many generations ago,
that housed a very different people.
...

I am afraid of the Darkness and the Light,
the Eyes that lurk behind the Trees of Honesty,
waiting to catch our Mistakes.
I am afraid that the End may be near,
...