Bloody Fingers, Broken Mind

W O N D E R L A N D

"Don't wake me up!" She screams.

"Don't wake me up!"

The words that forever begin as a desperate shouting plea, but fade into a helpless echo.
She does not understand why she has to wake up when she feels so low.

For her dreams fill her.
They fill her to the brim when her reality is darkening and dim.

But she has to be awoken, she is told. She questions it, but never aloud.
She is not to speak about what such Wonderland she is taken to when her eyes fall shut at night.

She can often dream about many things.

Many things such as the sun's
short passing summer light,
Or maybe a soaring red kite,
Both on a blood crimson sky.

Simple things such as these seem childish and playful in the dark eyes of society that constantly looks down upon her, shaming her for her secret world which she wishes to never awake from.

'Is it my fault?' She often wonders,

'Is it really my fault that I quite often ponder?'

She ponders of the ways to stay in her Wonderland.

But it is her fault, however. It is her fault that she is blind to the cruel lies of the false reality behind her closed eyes.

She so desperately wishes for something that simply cannot be.
But what she can't see is her freedom lying under her heart, glowing with the intention to set her free.

There, rests the key.

This key was once golden, once the shiniest, and purest.
But she's forgotten her purity and has lost what she once held best.

Her mind.