It was in wander
For not lost was she
It was in wonder
For without sin she led,
The tree bearing sweet fruit
Enticing her
Forward.
Lust sent a lumber puncture through
her spine.
Upwards it shot
to the brain, cerebral forms
into a red beating heart.
It excited her, the
Freedom found in such innocence
pulsating quivers.
She waited
Adam to her Eve
daisy chains falling from her neck
framing a prepubescent chest.
Such tender collar
Bones, hooks temperately fastening
white knotted cotton,
hand sewn dress virginial
White.
Annabelle's life, a melody of
melancholic cacophonic
raspers,
from asylums.
Former patients; Briarcliff Manor
residing in her; misery.
Innocent runnings from grave
Dangers of,
stark raving madness.
For, today, she wasn't embroiled
as Arden's pet.
Instead she was the little girl so born
to be,
before the woman was stolen
bound by a physicians sick
nightmarish reenactments.
For, today she was
Free.
a starling
passionate
darling.
© Sia Jane
I am not sure how this started with such innocence into such darkness. Light and dark. Fear and joy. Extremes.
This was written out, usual way, pencil and paper, scribble until I run out of everything chasing in my mind and then type up.
I don't edit a lot of this very spontaneous work.
It is very cathartic.