How Can I See Myself?

I look in the mirror and I see a ghost: someone who is a shadow within themselves. Glancing and joining eyes with the reflection to find a spark within them. No. I'm hallow. The colorless spheres of glass that inhabit those hallow walls are cracked and leak open with tears, my core flutters and reverberates full of unbalanced sobs. It has been ten years; I wish that you were here: the only one who could understand, who could truly help, help me. They constrict me then attempt to bend me in their direction, but they have finally broken me. I am no longer rooted and solid, I am shattered stone. Their words are ice. Give me your unbiased guidance. They say that need is based on those who call, I'm calling to you, am I worthy? Have you gone so far away that you can not hear me? I put my clothes back on and turn off the light. They say that I am my mother's reflection, but I see a shadow of her within my eyes.

Prodigal Son Returns to City

          The sun was still blue in the sky; the feast had been eaten and was strewn around the
floor. He went into the bedroom where the candlesticks were burned and melted into puddles of
sap. He looked for the gold his father had saved for the next famine. Cautiously taking up all the
coin on his nightstand that was stuck in the wax like bees, he left the room. Although he had said
that he wouldn’t leave again: promising that he would cut sheep’s wool for the rest of his life, he left for a second time. He walked along the road kicking up the dirt and slop to see the
city glow ahead of him. The sun was glossed the landscape with a thick iridescent mist
which swallowed up his old, family, farm, as he walked further into the city’s iridescent ember-like
glow. He dared to return to the streets where he had bought tapestries, linen, and whores. His
landlord will not be surprised that will have a greater sum of coin than before. She would
willingly take his coin just as he would willingly dissolve his father’s trust. He returned to the
place of sin where his favorite whore resided, she was still gauzed in red film, cautiously naked
underneath. He grazed his hands on her thin spine and whispered for her return. He returned to
the alley where he gambled away his fortune twice before to see his fellows crouching around
pestilence and flies. They winced up at his gold hand and begged for his forgiveness. He
responded with the crunching of his sandals on the heads of cockroaches with his woman in tow:
drenched in jasmine. He will go there tonight: to the place he had owned--the city will welcome
him back, just ask his father.