Nicole Johnson

The sting of pain that slices through her vein.
The blood stained skin brings the guilt of this hatred from within.
Quivering lips, not of sadness, but of the lustful rage that begs to be set free past the crimson eyelids of which she sees.
A frantic tremor pours over her as crystal glass goes soaring with the shatter down the wall filled with water.
Fingers clenched as it builds inside of her, an explosion she can no longer ignore.
Hands that were frozen become moving, breathing marionettes.
World war three has been unleashed.
She closes her eyes to envision wonderland
But tis only a dream.