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Brianne Rose Jun 2017
Show no mercy,Show no fear,
Always protect the ones you hold dear,
Come Sunshine, Rain, or Hell's Highwater,
I'll always be there,
No matter if the situations calm or if it's dire,
For you'll only be playing with fire,
'Cause until I am dead,
**"Tis' Off with your head!"
Another based off the Wonderland Theme, I have a total of 3, and this is the Second in the series.
aphotic blue Jun 2017
I woke up at midnight exactly 3am,
without holding any lucky gem,
I thought I would be so frantic roaming around
suddenly, I was enchant when I heard a captivated sound.

I followed the noise not long enough, I’ve found
A magical singing deer dancing on the ground
both my two feet move forward and my heart expound
when different people appeared made me astound on the background.

Is this wonderland am I seeing?
Is this really earth am I standing?
Is this still air am I breathing?
I look upon the growing lights, becoming
more intense during evening.

I don’t wanna go back to sleep and wait for morning,
my life wants to feel the wonderland I am having
maybe I was just dreaming of becoming a king
on this fantasies kingdom I am watching.
©aphoticblue
Nicole May 2017
She climbed out of the window to her bedroom and into the cool night sky. Dressed in black ripped jeans and a dark colored hoodie, so she dissolves into the darkness.
A case of Corona in her hand, she jumps the few feet to the ground. Her knees bend to soften the harsh landing. She stands back up to her full height, though it isn’t that tall.
Her hood, covers her face so that she is a mystery.
The night time accepts her with open arms, understanding that she needs to be unknown for the time being to be her true self.
She stalks away from her ‘home’. Her sharp, rushed movements standing out against the white walls. Then she breaks off into a run, wanting to get away as fast as she can, not being able to stand being close any longer. She runs to her night time escape, laying down in the middle of the field underneath the leafless tree.
She looks up at the stars, wondering who each one was.
What kind of souls turn into stars when their time on earth is up?
She lets the hope that she is one of those souls slip into her mind just this time. But for only a moment, before pushing it away.
Her experience with hope has shown her that it only brings pain and heartbreak.
She reaches over to the 6-pack and takes a bottle out, sitting up. It settles into her hand like it has been destined to since it’s creation, comfortable between her fingers. She takes the bottle opener out of her left pocket and brings it to the lips of the bottle. The top pops off in one fluid motion, the practice she’s had making it as easy as breathing. She brings the rim to her chapped angry red lips, then tilts it up quickly, taking a short sweet sip of the poison ambrosia.
It tickles as it slides smoothly down her throat. She lets a small content sigh slip out and be taken away in the breeze. At home, that is how she feels sitting underneath that tree.
The stars are her shelter and the field is her bed, soft and welcoming, the tree, an old friend. Here she lets the tears run freely down her face. The salt water mixing with the bitter taste of alcohol.
She’s screaming, wailing.
Asking the universe why she hates herself so much, why they don’t want her. Why can’t he love her the way she loves him? Why can’t she already be dead? Maybe then he would realize just how much she meant to him, how much he meant to her.
As she lets this fire slip from her throat, she doesn’t notice the boy dressed in blue on the other side of the field. She doesn’t realize she isn’t alone until he is sitting next to her with one hand grasping hers.
She startles when his skin comes in contact with hers. Then she looks at him, his blue eyes, blue face, blue heart, blue soul, unsure if he can be let into her secret home. He sees her hesitate, so he brings her hand to his lips and whispers his secrets into her skin.
The tenseness in her shoulders is released and she squeezes his hand tightly. They are both on a mission to escape the lives they live.
Both have minds burdened with memories and bodies littered with scars. Running from the demons in their homes.
She reaches over to the cardboard keeper of sins and plucks another bottle from its grasp. She takes the opener and rips the top from the bottle’s lips, handing it to the Blue Boy.
He takes it with the hand not wrapped in hers and brings it to his lips quickly. Tilting it back, he downs the whole bottle. He sets the empty bottle back into the cardboard as its poison takes effect.
Then he’s stumbling to his feet and dragging her with him, towards the forest standing menacingly behind them.
She runs after him, feet not quite touching the ground and laughter hanging in their air. Engulfed in darkness under the canopy, they giggle and whisper secrets of death.
Without the stars to see by, they fall into a rabbit hole. Spiraling down to their private Wonderland, where there is no home for them and the Mad Hatter is their friend.
They can run through clouds and save each other from the demons under their beds.
Their bruises scream, convicting the guilty and their memories wail in relief from them.
But Alice couldn’t stay in her Wonderland, so neither can they. Waking from their dream, back underneath the tree, weeping at the loss of the make believe and forced to go back to reality, where their demons have them in a choke hold and the guilty hide behind atrocious lies.
pluviophile May 2017
behind monochrome layers of fog,
clouds,
ice,
are beauties of the natural world.
long forgotten and taken for granted,
a variety of reds,
blues,
yellows pile up.
our spectrum -
our prism of crystal glimmers -
fill up our everything.
now,
fading away in my remembrance,
remains nothing but a sheer shine,
a dazzling imagination
filled with extraordinary visions,
replacing the wonderland
outside of it.
written by c.g.
xx May 2017
I found myself under
the dance of flashing lights
and dimming night,
of talking clouds
and breathing hours,
the hands of time
would tick in his hand;
loud enough he told me
as his voice reverberates in my ear,
"Welcome to Wonderland."
Grace Jordan Apr 2017
Well, its been two years since the night I sat up late dreaming of other worlds that seemed so far away.

Yet here they are, nearly before me.

Its crazy, looking between that moment and now. I was honest and hopeful, yet all those things I wished for seemed worlds away.

Well, worlds away just turned into 3 months.

I've finished my first real novel. I'm a third through my new one. The inevitability of me being a real author is sharp and bright and awe-inspiring. I've written things that make people think and feel and hopefully have the ability to make a difference.

I'm running across the country with that man I love. Its happening. I am in love. I feel forever in love. I no longer sit and question the maybes; I feel he is for me, as long as he is who he is and breathes on this earth and walks beside me. And I soon get to wake up to him every morning for as long as we're together. Its something else, I tell you.

Wonderland has gotten kinder. I have become stronger, and things are figuring themselves out. I'm figuring myself out. Its new and terrible and great and exciting. The world of Wonderland is before me, and I am no longer afraid.

I wanted these so many things, and I'm fingertips away from them. They're mine. Its jaw-dropping. Its nearly a surprise.

Except it isn't. It logically feels that way, but in my heart it only feels right. Now, I have my writing. I have my novels. I have my love. I have my wonderland. I have my future.

All the things I ever wanted are mine, and its more than I ever thought I would get. My dreaming isn't just dreaming anymore. Everything I dreamed of is real, and you know what?

Its better than I dreamed. Far better.
Damian Murphy Mar 2017
No wardrobe, no rabbit hole do I need
If it is to escape this world I look....
I just go to the library and read,
Where I can escape in a world of books.
Hannah Mar 2017
What a world it would be
if the moon were the sun,
if the sky was the land,
or if darkness never won.
What a world it would be
if the dreamers never dreamed,
if the losers always lost,
or if the poets knew of fun.
What a world it would be
if Alice never fell,
if her looking glass was solid,
or if her heart was icy cold.
What a world it would be
if backwards meant forwards,
if humans never settled,
or if God's word was blurred.
What a world it would be
if everything were backwards,
if Alice was happy,
or if the hatter wasn't mad.
What a world it would be
if right meant wrong,
if white was black,
or if politicians knew of love.
What a world it would be
if the killers gave flowers,
if the lovers really loved,
or if love would alway last.
It be a wonderland of sorts,
a world made of nonsense,
but it be worth it to have
if sadness meant happiness,
if beggars gave cheers,
or if hatred meant kindness.
It be a world I could live in
if acceptance reigned on,
if everything meant nothing
there'd be nothing to con.
We would all be the same
nobody would be wrong.
If we lived in a wonderland
we would all move along.
We'd be lost in our heads
singing our own little song.
If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?
~ Alice
Ariana Robinson Mar 2017
Following the white rabbit in his waistcoat
Listening to the tick tock of his pocket watch
Let's fall down the rabbit hole nestled at the trunk of the tree

And where you land is a room
An entire world hidden behind a door and all you need is the key
A nibble from a cake that makes you grow
And with a sip of a drink, you shrink
Insert the key and twist the ****
Opens the door to a world beyond imagination

There's a cat that grins
And with a smile, he disappears
Have a cup of tea and a biscuit with the Hare, the Hatter, and the Dormouse
Paint white roses red with the Red Queen
Beware of her freakishly large head
Slay the Jabberwocky with the Vorpal Sword
And restore the White Queen to her throne
I'm sure the ****** Big Head wouldn't like that
"Off with her head," she would say
Listen to the bicker of the twins, Tweedledee and Tweedledum
The Red Queen calls them her fat boys
Partake in the musings of Absolem
The hookah-smoking caterpillar who transforms into a beautiful blue butterfly

Let us escape to Wonderland
It is far more appealing than the real world
Being mad is a wonderful thing, isn't it?
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