She was running just as fast as her legs would carry her...
long flowing hair
chasing the wind.
The beauty and scent of
wild flowers and iris'
swirling...
escaping the black and white
world
to find a bright
and vibrant color.
This wasted imagination
in this beautiful paradise
a paradox...
jumbled juxtaposition
of mirror images...
backwards.
How can this be?
She's a victim of the motion
get the ball rolling...
a massacre...
She was running just as fast
as her legs would carry her
Screaming,
crying
emotionless
as blood ran down her face
her hands bloodied
...This is one twisted carnival game
clowns laughing in this nightmare
hands around her throat
breathing is not necessary
a sharp inhale
and wide eyes.
It was all a dream,
her feet hit the floor
and she never stopped running.
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Momma Bella
