Welcome Back
By
Patricia Harris
The door was closed
So long ago on who
We were, forgotten children
Pretending to be human
In the world turning us into
Monsters.
Taking away the idea
That were allowed to
Play, allowed to be
Happy…
Welcome back
To the forgotten places
Where childhood stows.
What the Dead Know
By
Serena Mossgraves
Regrets add weight
To the soul,
Leaving knowledge
Of what life has been
Stripped away
From all that was
Worthwhile.
Instead of fighting with
What the Dead know,
The living should be
Thinking about how
To live instead.
Caustic
By
Patricia Harris
The words that drip from your tongue
burn deeply into the soul,
Caustic like the acid,
Perhaps I am lost in a fog
of the brain melted by what you had to say…
I stand here broken,
wondering if I have made
many the wrong choice,
Walking through the acid rain…
for someone who will never see
the damage inflicted.
For the one who will always
cause me pain.
Hell
By
Serena Mossgraves
I read somewhere
That Hell was a place
Of fire and suffering,
I think not.
Hell is familiar,
That place you go
over and over again.
Hell is repetition,
and unending.
Hell is the moment
where the pain feels
the most like home.
Perhaps there might
be suffering,
but in the moment
would you see it so?
Or would you merely accept
that this is all you have
ever really known?
Singularity
By
Patricia Harris
Perhaps I am not the person
I thought I would be,
So like everyone else.
Perhaps I am but a
singularity,
a lost note
in a song sung
by the divine.
Flutter
By
Serena Mossgraves
The first sensation
Nearly too much,
So when the darkness comes,
Seeping across too warm skin…
Maybe it was enough to bring
The asylum doors open.
The crimson flower
Blooming into the abstract,
Making sure I doubt whether
It was even reality
Or just the flutter of
A dream.
He is not My friend
By
Patricia Harris
He said he was my buddy,
My brother, my bestie,
Anything to get me closer.
He wanted me to want more,
Wanted me hooked on
What he had in store.
He is not my friend,
He is the chills in the
Middle of the night,
He is not my friend,
He is the last minute
Need to fight.
He is not my friend,
He is my dealer.
Wave of Death
By
Serena Mossgraves
All things need oxygen.
The brain included.
Is life ended with the body,
Perhaps the most contested thought
The soul released when the body dies.
But what if we are still inside,
Starving for air and dying slowly?
Does the body work to survive,
And the wave of death
Is the release of the soul
From the house
The soul has built inside?
In wildflower fields
By
Patricia Harris
when you come traveling
through the fields of flowers
pick ones far from tame
and lose yourself…
For getting lost in
The fields of wildflower
Is a music to the mind
that allows you to leave
all of your stress and worry behind.
Dead Inside
By
Serena Mossgraves
The problem with life
Is expectations are so high
So much drama and the cost of pride.
It leaves everyone feeling
Like they might just be
Dead inside.
It drills holes in the soul
For emotion to crawl into
To hide.
Pattimouse 