She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…

Alison Wonderland.

Tick...Tock
Gun...Shot
Run...Now
Don’t...stop
Tick...Tock
Gun...Shot
Dreams
Long ago, there was a little black boy with a dream
A dream to one day be free of all the chaos in society
Long ago, there was a little white boy who held a gun up to his head
All because he became fed up with the injustices that trapped him within his own body
They were eight
Since when did the playground for eight year olds become the life that not even us adults wish to live
Since when did eight year olds cry so many crimson tears that they form a river big enough to swim in
Better yet, drown in
Back then this was unheard of
Back then it was war against color
You know those as white as snow against those as black as dirt
Now it is just pure ignorance
You know black lives, white lives, all lives matter
WELL ***** THAT!
The children’s lives are what matter
You know the future of our very existence on this earth
But it seems no one really notice that the children are suffering from our stupidity
Which leaves only one question
Does anybody really care
Tick...Tock
Gun...Shot
Say goodbye...to the dreams...that have been lost