Her lucid hollowness
is frantic nerves raising a chance
for the psychopath to repeatedly slice
veins restricting the welcoming embrace of her labyrinth.
Society arranged her romance with a hooded fellow.
His mouth singing putrid cavities, how mellow.
Those skeletal hands of his are wrapped around her neck;
she should have known better than to sleep with a depressed reaper.
Queen of Hearts has lost her wrath;
she's a frilly porcelain doll stained in pain.
Amongst the bruised teddy bears,
her highness is forever shattered
and cuddling with the head of her decaying king.
A deck of red nights are smoking
pearly white roses meant to be painted
with blood raining from children who no longer twinkle.
The Mad Hatter is a man of classy tatter.
Having a tea party, all by his lonesome
he sips his spiked tea and spits acidic gibberish.
His taste buds were pricked by glass,
can't she tell by the sharpness of his language,
their harsh native tongues crowding one mouth?
Cheshire Cat is floating on a cloud nine of incense;
the height makes him numb, so his thoughts make no sense.
Giddy inside,
his laughter covers the grotesque sight of rotten delusions.
Then there's his smile, that horrifying grin!
His mouth of razors delicately carving itself into her mind.
"Alice, you're in Wonderland, don't you like it?
My love, every inch is filled with entertaining nightmares.
I made it just for you!"
