I could feel the cracks,
Like I, myself, was some piece of thin glass
So I outwardly attacked, to avoid the self-reflection
But the pane mirrored my hallucinations and I was forced to see
The world tuned topside and turvy,
as if I had dismounted from reality,
and arrived in the psychedelic forest of Wonderland.
The Cheshire beast kept watching, kept smiling,
making me feel uneasy;
I questioned either asking for help or taking a small toke, he offered,
you know, to calm down?
The point on the path seemed like an invulnerable start
to a destination like most
Beginnings, that always continue with stories of journeys for listeners to investigate;
Led by the wordsmith in a hat,
who is guided by deep thoughts that drive him mad,
so he sings
My Grandma Alice warned me of his rants, as if
he and her had
some sort of scandalous past,
or was it me?
There isn’t anything that I wouldn’t believe, being forced to awareness by the Queen;
A devil to worship, as the keeper of thy heart
Dressed in fine linens and flowers that trailed loosely down
through the curls in her hair
Her rosy cheeks, that adorned the most innocent face I had seen yet,
a perfect angelesque figurine
But it’s a face that you could forget; that’s what made it different
Pretty, but not memorable; a disguise of one of the smartest fighters;
Apart of the liars of secrets that are unimaginable.
And the Queen was a pleasant peach,
Giving grandiose gestures of gentility
She offered a life of happiness, one fueled by greed
With everything at hand, to fulfill every need
The Queen, in all of her beauty, made one small mistake
A tiny slip of truth that made me see
As with every shark, they can never hide their teeth;
the most prized part of their being.
The Queen is smart, appealing to the fairy-tales that narrate inside of
each of us
Waking our desires, our wants, and
clouding what we believe;
Shading the light that fuels how we breathe;
Offering immortality for only one simple thing.
A piece of flesh that a god-like creature never needs
She is a romantic of disease,
who feeds off of anything that beats,
even remotely like a heart.
In that moment, when she stood over me, waiting, listening
A slight curve of her stained lips spiked up at the corner,
she assumed that the battle was over;
that the backhanded compliments with
the buried insults escaped me;
I just didn’t rise to the occasion, a few breaths I didn’t want wasted
I looked into the Queen’s eyes and requested my sanction
I knew my life was mine to give but that anyone could be tempted
Baffled, the Queen demanded an explanation,
I think she needed to hear how I could walk away from what she was trying to give me;
As if she had never experienced love,
Or even understood what it means.
Suddenly, my heart wept for the Queen of them all, so blinded by her lust,
that she could never feel any love
As a fiend, addicted to the taste of some cheap drug,
The aphrodisiac of a witch’s poison; a sick sorceress’ juice for the ones who were chosen and fallen.
I could only ever answer, what now sounds like part of a cliche piece of rhetoric:
“There could never be a life for me
without a life of love beating
from the foundation of my heart.”
The Queen seemed to believe, as if that sentence was the only
statement that I had said that contained any meaning
Her eyes wandered off for a few seconds,
Minutes of vulnerable memories and temptations,
as if the Queen was daydreaming;
Thinking of images and past lives without all of the empty feelings.
Scorned, numbed, drained of everything that was once good,
And then I realized that the Queen of Hearts is the justified victim of
life without a love at Home.
I am grateful for fairy-tale stories. ❤