Falling down the rabbit hole,
Into the world they call Wonderland.
Falling and falling with subtlety and grace,
No way up, but down down down…
A portal to the unknown.
Where I will land, who I will find,
I do not know.

But gravity takes control,
There is no going back, this I know.
All that I knew,
All that I was,
Has taken its place in the past.
And as I fall further and further,
Darkness taking over,
Pieces of me are left behind.
Memories, no longer kept alive.

In colours, I once saw.
My mind, I once knew so well.
My thoughts, so simple, so clear,
There was certainty, no fear.
All have seemed to disappear.

This body I now carry, I do not recognize.
My hands and my feet, have taken new shape.
Visions of black and grey,
I can no longer escape.
I am forced to welcome its unfamiliarity,
its uncanny presence;
Experience its limitations, explore its essence.
Understand the other that has violated my entity,
Claims power over my destiny.

The fall seems endless,I’ve grown weary,
Numb to my transformation.
If only I could reach its destination,
Feel the ground beneath my feet again,
Control my every move, advance at my own pace;
Enter Wonderland, a new home,
I am forced to embrace.

I’m in love with this sort of forgetfulness,
This deliberate flashing of eyes and toothy lies,
This beautiful, iridescent wonderland that we got lost in,
This forever we created in a mirror;
It’s cloying and honey thick on my tongue, and
your mouth tastes like all the truths that we buried.
Show me that Cheshire cat smile again, boy,
let’s pretend we aren’t going mad.
Let the lights swirl before your eyes.

Which side of the looking glass
am I even in?

My dream....

My dream is an elusive  mistress as I seem to consistently miss it
It's a constantly running wonderland rabbit
To be frank, I need to stop splitting hares about it
Anyway, I wanna become a skater, or sedated I'm not sure which.
Nah I'm just kidding I have a desire to command concrete
Either with inline blades or a four wheeled board,
Whichever I can pick up first
And whichever I can allow to inspire and enhance my verse

A skating poet huh? I like it

I got lost
For a while
I might still actually be
Lately the blues look like greens
And the greens look like blue
Though, All my dreams still contain fragmented images of you
Have I been here for days?
Or just a few grains of sand?
The flowers spoke
But I responded kindly with a strike from the sword in my hand.
How did it get there?
How did what get where?
Oh yes, the flowers, I suppose they know the Hatter and the Hare
But its not about the tea pots or crumpets
but about the four ace soldiers with trumpets
The Queen will arrive any minute
With the clubs and the spades all the same
In their white and their black suits.
I ran through the roses as fast as I could
but the raven was wearing me boots.

Grace has made it through Wonderland, and has seemed to find peace with it for the time being, so where does she go from here? This would be easy if like in books things just ended, closed up in a neat little bow at the end of the story and there is resolution.

But there is no resolution here. Just a desperate craving for meaning again.

I guess since my Wonderland is stable, the only thing left wrong is me.

Not to say that the baubles and do-dads in my head are still broken, no, Wonderland is at peace, remember? Must get you checked for that memory of yours, good sir.

Regardless, my ducks are trying to row and I must follow their orders as to not rock the boat. Nonetheless, though, who is Grace? I've been working so hard to keep the Jabberwockys at bay and stop the wars from coming and protect the heads from rolling, that it's like some part of me is missing. I feel like a hodge-podge, a hedgehog, speeding around and around in lost wonder trying to find something but never quite sure what.

Is writing truly the only distinctive, certain characteristic I have, with no contradictions and carpenters and changes? Is it the only solid footing I have on the edge of tomorrow? Am I not much else, with as much substance as a sellophone?

Everything seems to cancel, make me some sort of odd creation of jumbled things that don't seem like they would fit right at all, but enough glue was pumped into me that practically anything seems to stick.

I'm covered in glitter and polish, getting thicker each day, making me someone new with each passing coat. I'm not gaining weight, so is my inner soul just melting away?

Can a person just become polish? A person who creates themselves instead of something made, genuine, and real? Am I even Grace anymore, should I adopt a new name as if to show the difference that has taken a hold of me since my name was born years ago? Will I reach the point that when someone wants to know me and starts to chip the paint away, that by the end there is nothing behind the color at all? Will I become nothing but choices and farces to the point they are me?

I have no clue how to get back. Can I? The paths behind are gone, the bread I've been crumbling to save my path was gone years ago, as the Chesire Cat promised I'd find my way if I had nowhere to go. But guess now I have no way and have somewhere to go, and he's not to be found. Typical.

Do I want to get back? Am I too attached to my polish now?

My polish was layered to make others happy, so who am I without others, without the affections and pleasing of others? I don't know. That's terrifying. I can't do alone, and I have led myself here more and more with each passing day. I don't think I can be alone ever again, or the Jabberwocky will certainly **** me. I wish it was a maybe, but for once I can't even rely on those.

Guess I better keep on layering the polish and glitter, trying to find a semblance of who I once was. Maybe a mix of now and who I am? Possibly that could work.

Now only if I knew who I was at all.

That would make choosing polishing colors much easier.

It came back.

It was gone for so long and I had straightened up everything and things were actually even better, and the second my back was turned too long, there it was. The Jabberwocky.

I knew the second I saw it how it had gotten in. I had been in the front, tending to my new garden that I had acquired, with beautiful roses all about. I had never been so happy. And while I turned away, and left my back door open to tend to the outside, it came in and ate all my reserves and made itself at home again.

Unlike before, though, when I went inside it didn’t coax me into letting it stay, letting it swallow me whole. It began to shriek at me and attack me and I was so scared and I kept on telling it to go away, that I didn’t want it anymore but it stayed and fought and chased me through the house, wrecking all the scars I had repaired and pretty new things I had put up since its last visit. It wasn’t until I let it scratch my legs that it listened to my desperate, hollow pleas. It went away, slinking back into the darkness it came from.

I stayed up in my room for a while, tending to my small wounds and thanking God, Gods, anyone for letting me live. I looked around and cuddled into my bed and thought it wasn’t so bad. I smiled and even laughed a little bit. No, the Jabberwocky could not get me now. Things were different. It knew I didn’t want it, that’s why it fought. That’s why it lost.

But eventually, as I finally descended back into the rest of my home, I saw the damage it had caused. The stairway was scarred and scratched, the living room was a terror, and the kitchen worse. It had left me bare, empty, raw once more. I had been careless, reckless, stupid. What had made me think it wouldn’t come back again?

I started to clean, to paint, to polish, trying to rid my house of any of its signature marks. Maybe not fully, leave reminders for myself of its danger, but tidy enough no one could tell just by looking at it. Everything was a dandy cleanup, until I saw my legs again. The Jabberwocky may not have destroyed me, but I had given it something. I had let it have a part of me.

The rage started to build. I had left the door open, I hadn’t made letting the Jabberwocky in a non-option. I had let myself flirt with its darkness a little bit every once in a while, letting it think it was welcome. I had let it scratch me instead of telling it to get out more forcefully, instead of pushing it and fighting it harder. I had given it a token, a present, to make it leave me alone. That only teaches any good monster to come back for more. I had made the mistake, I had made the choice, I had ****** up. I, I, I am selfish, stupid, wrong. It wasn’t long before I was screaming.

My rage was so strong as I angrily cleaned my house that the Bandersnatch caught the scent and almost stopped by. Bandersnatches convince you to take the fire out on those you love, at any drop of a hat. They play practical jokes that benefit them and them alone, laughing their souls off while you alienate yourself. They were good friends of Jabberwockys.

But when I saw it near my back fence, I silenced.

No. No more. I didn’t want any more monsters, not after how long I hid them in my basement and held them in my heart. They weren’t allowed here. This wasn’t their home. It was mine.

So I locked the back door, and closed the front gate, and bolted the first door, and never stayed up too late. When they barged in for my head I was at no fault, and had every right to call for help, but when I let them waltz right in like an old friend I had some blame in my heart. But those monsters of Wonderland, I had never loved. I had merely no memory of a life without them. Now that there is a fence and a door and they’re not allowed anymore, I must do all I can to keep them away. They don’t deserve my heart, nor my head. Though I am a person of Wonderland, I don’t deserve to be dead.