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 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
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.
(Carnival Infatuation)

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
My daily activities range between avoiding most things
to avoiding all things.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
(my greatest failure - five years later)


What is this covet
Inside of my mind,
This subtle inscription
So purely defined?

When fairy-tales ceased
And images stopped
I padlocked my door
Yet, inside you walked

The present; suspended
Your hand on the frame
Your question extended
Amidst my derange.

Constructing the green
Encased in your eyes
Surrounded in gold. . .
Abundant inside

Under your slumber
I found my abyss;
Subtle as thunder
Perpetual hunger. . .

Holding the moon;
Discovering you
Our lives, intertwined
By golden fused blue.

Once, you accused me
Of not needing you
Yet, nothing you’d utter
Could be more untrue

No matter how distant,
Undone and askew;
No matter the question
I’ll always keep you.
How I saw you, post your Narcissistic Personality Disorder - that is.


(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
Bottle after bottle
Lay under my bed,
An ache in my stomach
A throb in my head

And yet, I won’t cease
This pattern, can’t sever
This alcoholism
Will go on forever.

A problem I have
I’ll gladly admit,
But the concept of stopping?
I'll never commit

Some people want wealth,
Some people want love
My concept of happiness
Lies in the drugs.
All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
Just a Game. . .

In the comfortable stockade of my mind
Hide and seek cannot be won
Tip­toe away and find a hollow,
The solitary spot
Slipping between turmoil
Festering in alcoves
Always waiting; back tensed,
Adrenalin sheathing the silence
If I remain undetected
Perhaps the seeker will ease off,
Forget the ollie ollie in comfree
Leave me stowed away.
Much later, I could creep into safety
Call a truce, change spots...
Yet unmarred, the same old rules;
Vicious whispers that ask of unknown.
Meaningful glances and gritted teeth,
The shock of lush green eyes chasing down memory lane.
Wake up, Maple. Wake up.
But I wouldn’t, and it didn’t matter.
Because the stabbing whispers would continue inside;
Dueling emotions I long ago left at bay.
Reside there, waiting.
Counting.
Watching.

*Ready or not,
Here
We
Come.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
Two inconnu sheathed within sight of one moon
Betwixt embers'and uppers consumed by whom
Two nocturnal allies have each exhumed
By Caffeine and Adderall's swindling tomb
And Nicotine's cluches; an imbibing room

He can't spell    
I can't speak    
Parallels      
None bespeak    

He's got canines and relatives
To replete empty spots
Whilst a book full of lies
Keeps my soul ersatz.
So, too soon or too late
I will resume
And instigate
This nighttime bloom

For Phil Roberts
http://hellopoetry.com/phil-roberts/

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
Something within me
Just isn’t quite right,
Edging its way
Right into the light

Is it my fault,
Or is it my genes?
My mental unrest
Is more than it seems.

From inside my mind
This flaw is long etched
Bound and entwined
This bottle; my sketch

These spirits cajole me;
Caress, lick, and tame
Then slaughter my conscience
In shambles, my brain

My epitaph states
If I were to die
Of my lack of control;
An unanswered cry

And where can I go?
This race, can I halt?
The best and the worst;
It’s namely my fault.

Something inside me
Deep under my skin
Isn’t quite right
Diseased from within

Fallen above
The height of alone,
The solitude found
Is what I condone;

Hidden, and silent
Inside my cocoon
My demons and I;
ALONE, in my room.
My mind is shot. My words are not. So, here's what tumbled out.



All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
Last class:*

Muddled mind and bleary eyed
Concentration took a fall
Find a hollow - crawl inside
Lost the pills to Now-Tow Hall

Benzos - always second choice
Wear my Kpen like a shawl
Want to whine with all my voice
GIVE ME BACK MY ADDERALL

This class:

**Iris in on what's inside
Orange bottle of enthrall
Guidance, I will not abide
my true love - oh adderall

Tweaking out with pupils wide
Shrink my presence, oh so small,
Temptations I will all abide
Personified a mere rag doll.
All poems original Copyright © 2015, 2016.
 Feb 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
You offered this "life"
     A "gift" - you ensured...
Then, whipped out that knife
     Your mousetrap: secured.

Lonely, and empty
     Existence: so grim
My world, in a casket
     That fits all but him.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
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