A sun kissed,

Frail little thing she was,

Six impossible things before breakfast.

Was a naughty dream of a child.

The sun had warned her,

Of the cruelty of what lay beyond,

The crispy grass,

Or the grumpy old fence

That was going to die.

Trading dolls with the daisies,

Sipping water from plastic tea cups,

A lullaby of the sun to tuck her to bed,

When the mane of the world,

Was thought to have been just as short

As the little red garden.

And a game of house,

With the boy who sent her into a tantrum.

Grainy, sticky, sweaty,

Made her shoes from pristine to blurry.

He called himself, dirt.

Alas came such a day,

When the sun kissed angel,

Threw her dolls aside;

Curiouser and Curiouser she felt,

At the last sound of a loud Benjamin Franklin,

And she was stolen away from the sun,

Right into the arms of a cold shadow.

Instead of green they gave her black

Cut apart her petals for they were brunette,

Not blonde.

A large, sticky red paint

Like the maple dripping off of pancakes

roughly smeared against her thirsty lips

Alice, they named her

And tossed her into a starving black hole.

Black blended with the sand

The holes in her stockings,

Just a gateway for bruises.

With the red paint on her face,

She emerged,

Looking a kitten with cigarettes,

As soft, crude smelling air

Sent her into a coughing fit.

Floating in front of her eyes,

A burly, Mario mustache, caterpillar

With a quirky blue tube,

Pressed between his teeth.

Like a child draining every ounce

Of a juice box

He made the stone his bed

And with each whistle

He called her Alice.

As she tried to make the intoxication

Just as homely as oxygen,

A notorious white tooth

Snatched her thoughts away

With a gust of monotone breeze

Filling up his mouth

He called her Alice,

Told her to follow him for tea.

All around, she saw a mascara stained rose

The way their cheeks withered and turned black

For the red lights and the white crockery

Were lulling their soul into a bitter sleep.

The Siamese twins mimed her innocence

The rabbits found her neck rather therapeutic.

Walking through a row of grass that hit puberty,

She broadened her vocabulary,

Wishing to be taken away.

A hookah, a rotten grape breath

And some powdery snow,

That was a way to touch the cloud.

Finally, a large Petunia table met her eye,

A fat tea pot and a row of heads smirked at her.

Plates filled with snow of all kind

And a cluttered mess of nonsense crockery.

At last, the white teeth turned out a cat,

Cheshire was where he was born.

And then, a large pair of doe eyes stared back,

Green irises diluting the red,

His hair was an astonishing orange.

A black origami hat with a pink bow

And a red suit that was bathed in wine

And a pair of hands,

Made with that powdery snow,

Wrapped around her waist

As he smelt her ears.

Alice, he said.

Fresher than ever, he found her.

Despite rolling around the hookah

And blood being poisoned with rabbit.

With a wink he unwrapped the black

Licking around a place within her,

She didn’t know existed.

It made her chest rise,

The thrill of wrong smelling like euphoria

He made her moan, curiouser.

Called himself the mad hatter.

Married her to wonderland.

She opens her eyes,

The daisies wishing her a good morning.

Long gone was the wonderland

For she was sent back home.

The red maple wiped away from her lips,

Hookah never existed.

Rotten grape breath was a nightmare waiting to happen.

The rabbit bites turned to old scars.

The mad hatter, just a nightmare away

Wonderland just a child’s tale.