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.
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.