Corner nightmares

She sits in a corner waiting
On the angry mob approaching
They want her dead
Drag her by her feet
Tie to a dead tree trunk
And light the fire between her toes
She clutches a knife in her right hand
The blade is sharp
The handle is tight gripped
She can hear their jeers
She sits in a corner waiting
Pressing hard the space between her back and two white walls
They want her life
Torches and pitchforks snatch her body
Lifted above the crowd to hang
By her throat
She wraps her left arm around her shins and pulls her knees to her chest
The ball is not small enough
She sits in a corner waiting
As the angry mob descends
They want her blood
Towering above they look down and sneer
Appease she
Cuts deep into her skin
Arms
Thighs
Muscles give under the blade
The blood veins off
Puddles at her feet and where she sits
The angry mob
Is not there
Never there
But the blood
stains
She sits in a corner waiting
For the chaos to end