T r a p p e d O|A 1M

[Emma Nightingale]

I can't see that I got red hands, I'm colorblind singing __________
Don't put the blame on me, child, the damn thing gone wild __________
Never wanted to be fooling you, can't believe I was ruining you __________
(Is that what you really want?) __________

A L O N Z O E R C O L E

Start your recipe with a dash of paranoia and a handful of schizophrenic, stir vigorously before adding a splash of post traumatic stress disorder,

WHAT a mouth full, but oh-so delicious.

That gun is loaded, __________ but it's not in my hand
The fire burns, __________ I'm not the one with the match, man
That gun is loaded, __________ but it's not in my hand
Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded


~ Dust bellowed in the wake through the relentless bars which proved to be stronger than originally anticipated.
The shine revealed a corner of a young man’s determined gaze, fingers entangled in front of his lips as he slouched in thought over his folded
legs upon the misshapen and blackened bed frame. It creaked as he folded his head down to touch his forehead with cemented hands.
His thoughts were clouded and mischievous, leading him awry so easily he questioned every breath to be real. Broken glass and screeching
tires echoed endlessly through his brain. Dark, shadowed eyes peered around the perimeter, the words upon the page revealing no expression.
How could he be so careless as to allow himself to be captured! He was always careful, ALWAYS. Why didn’t anyone believe him? His
connected hands constricted. They were still watching, always watching. He needed to go. Run.

Leaping from his spot, hoping the sporadic motion would confuse and shock his captor. The meds jangled in his pocket as he darted out
of the room and into the cold hallway, desolate. He gulped and sprinted onward, unthinking, in case they had planted a device into his brain
while he slept. There was no telling the demented minds of his jailers. His steps echoed through the cemented walls as he passed doors
on each side, numbered messily. He was at the very end of it. His boots stomped on the ground, leveraging him forward in hopes of escape.
Clenched fists sprang his speed as hopes of freedom fueled his body. ~

__________ I've seen it all before, you back out, and everything's changing
__________ I needed something more, you stepped down, so what are you chasing?
__________ I'd put it on rewind for this time only
__________ (Is that what you really want?)