JennaOfWhiteWater94

Sing me a song my little caged bird.  Sing me tunes of flying in the blue sky.  Warble out a song for me,  Little caged bird.  Little bird,  Sheltered behind brass bars and silver bells.  Never reaching the moon,  Singing by the window,  Of dreams of touching a cloud.  Keep on singing my little trapped bird.  Sing to me in the trills of  Bells and chimes.  Sing me a song, my little slave bird.  Tunes and melodies,  Harmonies and lullabies.  Do you still sing when I pluck your wings?  Will you sing as I clip your pinions?  When I hold you in my hand,  Will you sing as I stop your escape?  Let me hear your little chirps,  Your whistling,  Let me hear your secrets.  Sing to me, little bird,  Sing while you stay  Trapped,  Imprisoned,  Bound,  In my golden brass cage. 

A single candle burned in the window, flickering light and gay, As the cabin it resided in beckoned menacingly for weary travelers. It promised something, something that was both heavy and light, both lying and truthful. Whoever looked at the candle was entrapped like a moth, drawn to the warm light.  Millie watched the dancing flame, while somewhat low and yet still ever-so-bright, flickered like someone was breathing softly behind it, dancing in the subtle and invisible breeze. They were entranced as the flame licked at the dew condensed windows, much like the inquisitive fingers of a bored toddler. They drove past this cabin hundreds of times, maybe more, ignoring the thick glass windows caked with years of mysterious muck and both yard and road overgrown with unfriendly plants such as knapweed, thistle, blackberry brambles, hogweed, nettle and sharp leafed bear grass. But now...there was a plain white candle tiptoeing in the window. And their car broke down.   Millie was not truly

A thousand tiny thoughts a day Dance and resonate inside my head. Intrusive, wistful, angry, lustful, and lonely. Some of them repeat, most of them scrambled Like a bag of cardboard puzzle pieces, Connecting into a large picture, but not All fitting together. A thousand thoughts a day, a million a week, They bounce around, forming into new strings, Some braiding into something legible; Others forming as nothing but a ball of twine, Tangled and discombobulated. The thoughts repeat, Over, And over, and over. Some of them glistening new, Some of them make-believe and wishwash. Thoughts of probabilities, Of impossibilities. A thousand thoughts a day, A million a week, A trillion a lifetime. Thoughts are faster than you think, So, what are you thinking?

I don't need much for us to have a good time, Just a bottle of whiskey or a box of sweet red wine. We can sit outside, and watch the sun start to set. And make a wish that this moment doesn’t end just yet. We will camp under the stars, with your head on my shoulders Wondering if we can share this time when we get older. As the night goes on, and our feelings grow, The taste of your lips is a song I didn’t know.... Your breathy sigh from the peace we made, Our boots thrown into the bushes, hidden in the shade. “Can we stay like this until the moon goes down?” “Won’t your mama be worried if we just left town?” Stealing kisses by starlight gave me a rush. The two of us, blissful in a hush. I could stay like this forever, with you by my side, But the dawn slides on in, full of pride. No more whiskey, No more boxed sweet wine. Just the two of us in my dusty truck, Our midnight tryst finally out of luck. The whiteness of dawn is our only light, When I drive you home before I kiss you “Good

The softness of her scent, of Eagle 100’s and cinnamon, The kindness in her toothless smile. Her shuddering breath as arthritis twists and mangles her hands. The confused sorrow in her greying eyes. The hurt in her voice, as the last ten minutes are erased from her decaying memory. I feel my heart ache and break as I tend to new scores on her withered skin. I smile at her repetitive stories, even as I battle away my encroaching tears. I smile, so she doesn’t see how much I hurt due to her own pains. I act like a fool, so she doesn’t seem alone. I listen to the same stories over and over, branding them in my brain to remember her, To remember the history and stories of her mind. The petal like texture to her skin, so delicate, bruised from age. Over time, she formed new marks, As she committed self-harm in the sense of curiosity. I fight back my distress at the wrenching thought, At the promise of future pain. Her memory fades even more now, Blanked, erased, and disconnected. I see

When the brimstone burns and the sinners beg down below, All begin to scream with echoing bellows. The only way you’ll see me is standing on Your grave, Laughing at the irony, sounding so Depraved. And as i laugh and dance while throwing Back my head, I will celebrate and party now that you are Finally dead. And when the demons take you down I will Scream out my joy, I will kick up your grave soil Don't even try me boy! And then i will run away, Run away, Leaving the stress behind. I will laugh and pray and scream and shout, But you won't ever hear me cry! And when you are bellowing, looking for Someone to blame, I will stand at the top of the hills where The demons now know my name. My name might mean white water, But I rather like it so, And the desperate will hear it prayed Wherever I might go. The only name you will scream is the one My mama gave me. So let it flow from your lips in the shape Of a miserable plea. Im running away, Funning far