The pillars that supported the hallway to the girls’ chambers are enabling a portal to a world that no longer exists, one that I only see when I can rip away from the terrors of reality.
The debris continues to lay lifeless, lining the edge of the corridor,
and each fragment takes the shape of a muscle, a bone, or a ligament, reminding me of the brutality.
Yet still, my crown only tips when I cradle my head into the corner of the walls,
where her sweet voice still echoes, bouncing from room to room, if I listen carefully enough.
I close my eyes to envision her face when she laughs, even when she yawns,
but my peace distorts to pain,
envisioning her in the deep, gripping her throat with a breath desperate to escape, leaping up as if rudely awakened from just a bad night’s sleep.  

They think of me as a fool,
I try to pick myself up, and rest, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, I find myself in the bottom of a pool, every time.
Honey-coloured--I swim up and discover that I’m in the fountain outside of the palace, but it’s redesigned:
a marble statue, situated in the middle, depicts my forgotten one: mouth agape, eyes wide and afraid.
I’m out of control and violence pervades even my sleep,
before I can wade through the ichor to be close to her, I’m transmitted, reaching for her neck and life is draining through the gaps in my fingers,
dripping, spurting, and spraying my face as thin as mist.