Nicole Johnson

We can pretend it’s the goodness within her heart that keeps her around.
You don’t see what I see when you’re not around.
I’ve sat back within the chair that rocks as she pour her emptied soul into the people
And they fall to their knees blinded by the rays that she preached.
The mist that seeps past her lips is only an illusion of the poison within her veins
Pumping energy before its stuns the living into believing she’s a saint.
Thump!
Thump, goes her heart, slightly irregular
And you hear the beat of the drums, but no one plays because it’s all in your head.
A web of lies woven around you, squeezing tighter with each circle until the very existence of you is cocooned and life leaves you with no notice of return.
I watch as she laughs that innocent laugh of triumph and no one heard a thing, but I can see her wings.
They aren’t what you would imagine an angel to carry.
The wings of a bat magnified is what I see and she soars through the sky like the vulture surrounded by corpses that was I.
She made me believe in those angelic eyes.
I was consumed by her web of lies as she strangled me in her mist of treachery only to take my essence and leave my body.
I sit trapped in a realm between the living and the deceased, tortured by the screams of her striking again.