Nicole Johnson

Wind is flying by, it knows how I feel.

Dreams soaring blind, they know what I seek.

This vision isn’t mine, but somehow it  knows how I think.

I think one thing and it makes me believe,my trusty sidekick steers me blindly.

We’ve halted at a truck stop that lead over a cliff of tortured dreams.

I can’t soar high as the wind or force myself to dream— but my visions are mine and you can’t have them.

Money from my pockets went toward this.

Every last penny for your thoughts were geared toward remembrance.

It was not broken until now and my blood may be boiled but the dragon hasn’t come out.

Here, here, nothing more than a simple whisper.

“What of this?” you say, a challenge of order.

Thick brow arched toward the sky as a mere laugh escapes these taunted lips of mine.

I dare you speak another inaudible word and that will be the last dance your tongue glides against your mouth.

Speak no more, nonsense is not allowed in this house.