The swing creeks, as the purple woman softly moved her feet. Her face pointed at the street, daydreaming of a day that she was unable t o reach with her fingertips. The grey clouds crowding the sky, and are beginning to squeeze themselves like sponges.

          She steps off the swing, and looks up at the sky. The rain, like her,  were stuck in the clouds and are now free. But only to crash on the floor, and vanish in the ground. Her eyes shut,  as the droplets kids her skin,  and lay near her eyes. An engine of a truck was then heard,  and her dream crashed. 

          As her stomach sank below the ground under her small weak feet, her head faced the floor.  With the truck now parked, the crashing or a closed door echoed.  The thunder then rolled across the sky from the man's mouth,  who now stomps with every step he takes forward the woman.

          Demands for things boombed, and she fearfully shook her head.  His hands gripped her purple arm, and she was pushed into the crooked home that weakly stood behind her.  Her body was forcefully decended to the grey floor. Time flew, red sweat grew,  and purple with black markings began to be made more and more. 

          Food was made later than made for the man, and the purple woman, with shaking hands and weak body, followed his demands. The next day slowly washed by, with the rain still gently squeezing from the clouds. 

          The purple woman sits by the cold window, tracing the cracks with her shaking finger. Still dreaming of the day that she knows that can't come, until she ends up in the clouds. Where she can dance, and have skin as sweet as porcelain.

          Where she won't have to dream, because she will already be in her dream. She leaned her head on the cold glass, with her eyes closed, as she hears the engine that belongs to an old truck. A tear slipped down her face, along with another,  when the crashing of a door closing echoed.