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Hg Jun 2018
poems are laced with mercury
like they used to use in hats
that’s why the best poetry
will often drive you mad
"Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"
~Later, towards the end~
Alice asks, "Hatter, why is a raven like a writing desk?"
Mad Hatter: "I haven't the slightest idea."
Then Alice disappears back home.*
So why is a raven like a writing desk?
Ravens symbolizes death and to me Writing symbolizes
But when you think about it ravens fly-- come and go as they please. Writers feel like that when they write at a writing desk--
come and go as they please.
So maybe there's the answer...
Ravens are free, and a writing desk is a place to be free.
But maybe a raven is also like a writing desk because most good poems deal with some type of grief, or joy...Every good poet deals with issues with life and the grief that comes with death. Every great writer has troubles-- look at; Edger Allen Poe, Dylan Thomas, and Emily Dickerson, just to name a few. Edger often wrote of ravens and drank, Dylan also drank, and Emily was afraid to go outside. We all have troubles, but only a certain amount of people can write about them in poetry and make the words be so beautiful. So maybe in the movie there was no answer, but it all seems to random to have no answer. So here's my answer: Freedom and Troubles, Ravens have/deal with both as well as a writer at a writing desk.
Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?
copyright; McNally Inc. 2010
6/28 Nina McNally
not a poem, just thoughts.
Knit Personality Oct 2016
The day began at 6 PM;
   At 6 PM it ends.
At 6 PM a cherry brehm
   Will puff with harey friends.
O frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!
   I chortle in my joy!
A happy-glad Mad Hatter Day
   To every girl and boy!

At 6 PM I drank some tea;
   At 6 PM drank more.
At 6 PM the Tumtum tree
   I smoked, then went to snore.
O frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!
   I urkel loud and wild!
A happy-glad Mad Hatter Day
   To every beamish child!

I walk to school every day
And every day I go the very same way
Today I thought I’d try something new
The grass was so green and the sky so blue.

So I walked through the trees
so I could smell the sweet breeze
As I got farther in the wood
Things got stranger than they ever could.

A little white rabbit stopped to ask me the date
And cursed as it ran off saying I’m late I’m late
A pink cat that seemed to disappear
Told me that I was ever so near.
On the ground was a deck of cards
The queen surrounded by all her guards.

“Time” A mad hatter asked
But I was too focused on my task
In the distance I heard a beeping sound
But saw nothing when I turned around
I felt someone poking me in the head
And awoke to realize I was still in bed.
A child's poem
© 2016 Christine Mulvihill
Read more at http://******
zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ****** bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes

she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Mopin' in an overpriced motel
Trying to decide what items I can sell... Well, what's few and far between
Hardly any parts are even left of me

though THINGS do not define us
Take a peek in my chest cavity
You'll see I am righteous
High-strung Yet somehow Vibrant

Here it is, kids
'Tis the season of unrest
There's no sleep just tweakers
Screaming obscenities
In shadow corners
"****" "****" "****"  "godammit"
Im watching his sanity go
Right out the door

Is it the allure?
Perhaps its the warm bed?
That's keeping me from leaving right along with it
I bite my tongue til it becomes
Blood red
Before I know it my mouth
Begins mimicking my head

And I'm yelling ...

"****** I can't stand it, get your **** together man!"
A fun short story about 4 junkies sharing a room and one who's keeping every body up..
Bad Luck Jun 2014
Cheated and defeated –
                      my mistakes, themselves, repeated...
A monster made of gluttony;
                     I’ve no option but to feed it.

I saw the writing on the walls,
           But, my feeble eyes had failed to read it.
Still... I’m not convinced that this warning,
        Was chosen by my eyes, not to be heeded.

Perhaps my head was the catalyst
           A byproduct of an acid trip;
           Had split this world in two.
Some for me, and some for you.
Maybe . . . this warning wasn’t meant for me.
Maybe . . . it’s for the second half of two.

“Ye kind-hearted shall not go forth”
                              … is what I believe it said,
But I can’t be too certain.  
                              After all, I’ve lost my head.
Which brings up some emotions -
                               Or maybe, they’re allusions?
But, I can’t tell through the hallucinations
                If these are real or illusory movements.

So the fish hook pulled me deeper . . .  
                       All the while, stretching skin.

                       I knew not about the rabbit hole
                       to which I just dove in.

It seemed a lot more like an alley when I first took a glance,
Once I took a second step, I guess I chose to dance.

               Oh, what a performance it’s been!  
                And we haven’t yet hit intermission!

                 Although, I’m not sure when that is…
                            As I seem to have lost my vision.

The Queen of Hearts shouted,
                              “Off with his head!”
But without a brain to notice,
      I couldn’t hear what she had said.
She said it before the guillotine dropped…
So was my brain already gone
                      When my head hit the block?

I’m not sure where to find the pieces.
                     I didn't know I fell apart.
                     I didn’t know
I was a headless servant
                    To the heartless
                    Queen of Hearts.

Now, without a head,
                   I’m trying to piece it back together.
And I’m worried that this rabbit hole
           just may have me trapped here forever.

So, I’ll trace my steps backward, to try to find my "forward."
But as I set my pace faster, I find I'm moving slower.
Things turn upside down, when you’re this far down . . .
And the carousel just spins – around and around.

Gaining speed, with increasing malice
I hopped right on
        And chose a different path than Alice.

Here we arrive again at choice, but was it one at all?
This is when I found the Hatter – where the bounds of logic fall.
He asked me why I was there.
             He said, “My boy, have you gone mad?”
And as I searched for reason,
                                          I concluded that I had.

Standing on the ceiling,
            we both watched the world, twirling.
Sipping from our cups,
            between the stirs of sterling.
We chatted over tea, and while I was now content with spinning . . .
My content grew simultaneous
with the Cheshire Cat’s grinning.
He looked at me and said,
                                      “Upside down, yet, you seem alright?”
I responded with a “Hm…”
                                        and my spinning turned to flight.

I flew from the table and
       As I questioned if I was stable,
I grasped for the air.
       And for the first time . . .
                                          I was able.

Apart from the question, I now knew that I was mad,
Because I gripped a fist of air,
                             knowing full-well it can’t be grabbed.
I swung through the air…
                                    maybe I flew . . . I’m not sure.
But as I passed over ground, I surveyed it for Her.
I looked for Alice as my guide,
                              but someone took her place:
The "heartless" Queen of Hearts
                                     and her over-sized face.
Was it the face? Or just the head?
                            What’s ahead without a face?
It seems I lost the bounds of logic
                                    upon my fall from grace.

Was I flying?
Or was I falling?
It seems that orbit was my calling . . .
Where, as high as I fly,
   the paradox of orbit keeps me falling.
Maybe I’ll stay out here, where it’s quiet by the stars
And there’s no signs to read;
               no catalysts for scars.  
But did I ever escape?
                Am I still in the hole?
I found among these fragments
          the completion to my soul.

Somewhere between falling and flying,
              I told the truth while I was lying
And found my equilibrium
               between the living and the dying.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

thelemonpolice Jul 2018
I talk alot
And it's mainly to myself
And if an audience gathers
We share eachothers wealth

But my friends they get sad
If I spend too much time
with others I love
and I drink too much wine

Does it make me quite bad
If I drag you out tonight
and drink till I kiss
and dance with the night

When I know you'll feel bad
Even when I don't try
And I know you won't listen
Because you don't see me cry

and I know they get jealous
That I talk all the same
That they aren't the most special
That I'm playing the game

But if I were to tell you
All of my life
I'd die before I got to
How you see my eyes

and maybe half way through
Or earlier, mind
I'd stop quite abruptly
And realise

That there's no explanation
no words I can say
That"ll make you understand
What you've all done to me

because I've done the same
To everyone
That I've ever met
Because I call it fun

but if my fun hurts others
When I just wish them well
Maybe all that I've felt
Is just others own hell

And they try to be nice
and they cry in the dark
But when morning comes
There's nothing to do but laugh
bekka walker Dec 2015
Dangling time in front of my face.
A rythmic ace.
East to west. East to west.
By this chain as it wraps around my chest.
Hexed, dancing towards the edge of a chasm.
C ontorting for you cynicism
               U nvieling for you undived attention.
     R easoning for your recoilation.
    S alivating for your sensuality.
E xcusing your erosion.   ----
D ancing in my delusion. ---
You are the jack of spades.
A master of trades.
Colder than the queen of diamonds you've plucked from my mind and displayed.
I am the rabbit you'll rip from your mad hatter.
Impatiently awaiting my own dismal disaster.
Pounding my fists;
"Make this trick go faster!"
Getting mixed up with an illusionist was hasty and unplanned;
As my courage melts, he strokes my cheek
With his sleight of hand.
Michael Marchese Jul 2018
I need only to smirk and you’re mine
If it’s god that you want
I have dozens in mind
Devilishly divine
Bending time like a grandeur delusional

In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime
A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme
Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design
Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing
Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing
To deify Destiny’s
Deathly serenity
Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises
And penning my ending in violent demises
Disguises surmised by the climate arises
Girl always there riding my similar waves
As I try to save face digging mechanized graves

But the cloud tentacles
To the depths
Drag me down
To demented ascension
Black holes in the ground
Where disciples of light
And my huntress in white
Vivify me by day
Resurrect me at night
To instruct and deduct
Reasoning in a state
Of a being supreme
Contemplating its fate
Spenser Bennett Jul 2016
Giving in to making small talk chatter.
Collateral atoms scatter over my head
Perfect pitter pattered patterns.

Behind my eyes grey matter
That feels in tatters
After it burned out the rafters.

Is my skull getting fatter?
Madder than your favorite hatter.
And I won't get an ever after.

Never been a dodge drafter
I meant a draft dodger. (cue the laughter)

Who makes taffy taffer?
And who made Daffy dafter?
Bugs and carrots for my Satur-
Day morning napper.

Paint splattered pancake batter.
Knife and fork clatter.
Belly never felt so dapper.

If I had to choose I choose Venonat, er
I meant you Pikachu! (What a Knee slapper!)

Always been a little scrapper
Even when I was bigger batter.

And I don't know no pastor
But I got the spirit moving faster.

Probably should've been a future rapper
But I could never be a present wrapper
And I'm more wrapped up in the past four
Years that were snatched by time snatchers.

But now I'm bored by this rhyme planner
So I'm gonna go get a snack or
labyrinths Nov 2013
your teeth chatter and the wind hits your face.
you can no longer feel your hands or legs.
something about frostbite floats around your mind.
and while your head is screaming, go home
your legs are screaming, left, right, left, right.

you remember walking this way from school.
when your sister would pick you up and walk with you.
or when your "best friend" would make you take the long way
so you could walk her home.

you remember trying to climb that tree
to impress a couple of kids
in hopes that you would become friends.
you remember falling
and the shrill laughter of "never never friends"

you remember sitting in that field
and writing poetry
about the dogs that passed.

you remember playing in that park
with a girl you thought
you'd be friends with forever.
you remember sitting on the swings
while your mom talked to other moms
about what it was like to be a mother.
you remember sliding down the slide,
playing in the sand,
and the reluctance to go home.

you find yourself in His neighborhood.
you still remember the exact way to His house.
how could you not?
you are still smoking.
you imagine the smoke hitting His face.
He would be shocked, if only He could see you now.
what He made you.

you stop by His house.
you remember the path across His house that would lead you to school if you followed it.
you remember the tree next to His house where He poked a wasp's nest.
you remember His backyard, how you would build forts and He would always win.
you remember His living room, blanket forts where you would tease you until you cried.
you remember His mother and her patronizing smile.

there are christmas lights.
you wonder which room is His.
you wonder if His house still looks the same.
you wonder if He remembers what He did to you.

how He touched you
even though you said no.
how He told you that you wanted it
even though you said you didn't.
how He told you that you needed him
even though you knew you didn't.

He is a ghost now, just like the rest of this neighborhood.
and you know if you stay long enough
the ghosts will take it as an open invitation
and come out to play.

you keep walking.
you put the cigarette out.
you think you're lost until you find a familiar looking building.
you walk towards it.
you realize it's the church across from your elementary school.

ah, elementary school.
remember how they broke you?
remember how they called you names?
remember how you tried to **** yourself?
remember all the friends you didn't have?

you can see the ghosts, now.
the school is filled.
your legs are moving towards it.
you remember the nightmares you had about this exact place last week.
you take pictures.
you try to catch a demon on film.

you have lost all control of your legs.

this is where you told ghost stories about the old lady that lived in the forest behind the school.
this is where you made a pact that you would be friends for life.
this is where that kid told that teacher he was death when he meant to say deaf.
this is where you sat under the playground and laughed so hard you peed.
this is where you showed them the scars on your wrist.
this is where they rolled their eyes and called you "attention seeking".
this is where she told you every lie they'd ever said about you.
this is where you sat when you told them you were going to **** yourself tonight.
this is where you bled and everyone saw.
this is where you broke.

this is where you became who you are today.

the anxiety is killing you.
you light another cigarette.
you hear voices and a bark.
you make a left.

down the road is the fence you kicked your show over in the second grade.
you wonder if you should thank them for returning your shoe or not.
you don't.

you walk towards her house.
the last time you were here was halloween in grade nine.
you were dressed as the mad hatter.
being chased by some guy dressed as michael myers.
trying to figure out who you really are.

she became someone completely different less than a year later.
she had been telling people she wished your best friend would **** herself.
she got into drugs.
she was always too good for you, anyways.

you want to knock on her door and ask how she's doing.
you wonder if she remembers you.
you don't.

you walk past His best friend's house.
he has bright, shining lights, too.
christmas spirit.

you wonder if he still lives there or not.
you remember the way you went to daycare together.
the three of you.

you were never close with him.
he was into hockey and more attractive girls.
by the time He transferred out of your school, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.
he forgot all about you.

he started dating girls in grade one.
he started cursing in grade five.
he had kissed a girl by grade eight.
she thought she was in love with him.
he had no idea what love meant.

he still plays lacrosse with Him.
he talked to you about Him, sometimes.
he told you how He was doing, how much he hated Him.

at least the two of you had that to talk about.

you are almost home.
you check your phone.
four missed calls.
three unanswered texts.
where r u?
you turn off your phone and put your hands in your pockets.

you're walking down the same path you would during school.
you remember the way the boy you had a crush on would tease you as you walked home.
he lived on your street.
he would call you names.
you told yourself it was only because he liked you.
he didn't.

the two of you used to be best friends.
you played in the park together.
you had matching walkie talkies.
he came to all your birthday parties
and you went to all of his.

until you weren't cool enough.
and that was that.

you still see him sometimes.
you don't exchange a hello or even a smile.
you act like he doesn't exist.
he does the same for you.

you wonder if he feels as guilty as you do.

you are home, but you are not alone.
you've returned with your own ghost.
she is whispering in your ear how you have become
everything she would be ashamed of.

she wanted to be a veterinarian.
she wanted to be thin.
she wanted to be pretty.
she wanted to be smart.
she wanted a boyfriend.

you are unemployed.
you are overweight.
you are ****.
you are dumb.
you have a girlfriend.

she is dead and you are the only one to blame.
because you killed her.
When a metaphysical Venus flytrap
blindsides the honeycombpound eyed
sense of security I've falsified;
when the knowledge of good & evil is ratheripe;

when contiguous backgarden of young guns
mix solar with Stella & I can hear from here
scruburb hubbub, my hothouse muse sick at their
Asbo airrifle house anthems;

when I've been spat out like a pip again,
& nursery taunts of my bullies Johnny & Tommy
- who dibsed Bill & Ben,  which pilloried me
'Little ****'  - are flashback thicket evergreen;

when local calumny of all my complaints
wins blacklisting,  thus alone, I can't cajole
or goad my thriving today:  a fool
for the sun, I go to her in her element.

In her greenhouse grown from garnered discarded
gardengates, writtenoff windscreens, woodworm tough
junk planks, other ****** clutter, freecycle stuff.
Maybe what the fairies  flytipt, shed sheds.

& as her silver hatter, tinfoilconed garden
gnome, I say it with godwottery
& fleurs bleues of drosometric poetry.
Fecund in seconds at so gorgeous a groundswoman,

compared to whom Charlie Dimmock's
a pyrrhotic hummock. I need to feel
her greenfingernailed hands that heal
petals upon me. Even dogsmuck

has its day in the sun (faecal factoid:
contemporary canine squelchtraps for shoes
no longer dessicate a canescent hue,
because of low calcium content in tinned

dogsmuck for our best friend's biting end).
But may those hands which craft crutches for
crocuses scratch out my roots, pooper-
scoop summer stinkers I grew from. She tends

to sheltered seedlings, soon to spam 'ead
the ceiling of her slipshod shed, even
before 'Bunny H. Greenhouse' is interjection
wellsaid. & when transplanted, repotted

they'll nip new zeppelins in the bud
in a beanstalking blink, like a safetypin
in a  zit! Her garden's always plopping
antigrav aureate  H.Dumpties, sunnysideup

drive of saplings & seedlings, for golden
egg plants be all flora to my floraphile.
Not strict drips she feeds to daffodils,
dahlias, daffodahlia hybreeds - they're sodden!

O Edwina Wateringcanhands!
Also my Mrs. Mellors, at whom a herm
shoots up overgrown, aherm.
Eden is a garden of reproductive glands.

Her hyponychium frowns
with flowers' bedding,
but the **** needs weeding
that brings my flower down.

Far more than the Maggie (not numb P45)
Thatcher of flower power, Frey hersilt,
Gardener Girlf put da spurt inta expert
teasing o' da e'rt. Induviae

of a concrete straitjacket, please be pleached
til dead arms o' malacophilous heart  reach
her greenfingered kind of golden touch,
much more precious than any old Midas touch.
Zachery Oct 2018
Alike but different
Each is permanent
**** someone in rage
Or **** yourself and leave behind a page
Your level of madness is measured,gauged
But why do I banter
Im as mad as a hatter
Nothing even matters
My life in tatters
A knife to me throat
Toss me in the moat
A bullet in the brain
Nothing to gain
Sometimes relief other times pain
The blood will be taint
Burn and Burn
Ashes in the urn
The worlds will turn
The stomachs will churn
For all you see is fake
And they will continue to take
An illusion
To launch you into confusion
A ruse
To light your fuse
Our lifespan
Throughout man
Short and bitter
So many of us quitters
The rest of us let out titters
While they gnaw on us, the critters
Bite and Bite
Fight for the light
To die in the moonlit night
To cause each other so much fright
Our 'Gods' tell us to **** each other
Our own brothers
Let the blackbird fly
High into the sky
To cause the gloom
To signal our doom
Our demise
Of the human enterprise
A poem that I was working on since Sunday
LVQuigley Mar 20
The phyrigian lion couldn’t save me now
Nor the man on the moon with all his stars
Or the imps that play havoc at night
Please hold my hand, hold it tight through this madness and chaos.
Because the hatter laughs in my dreams and the mermaids aren’t as they seam
With snarling fangs as sharp as the Wolves that pounce through my synapses the phyrigian lion couldn’t save me now
Nor all the stars pierced to the inside of my eyelids
Kay-Rosa Apr 13
checkerboard flooring, red rose walls
the large caterpillar's snoring, lets count humpty-dumpty's falls

excessively strong tea, smiles that drive the crowds crazy
a snakeskin hat just for me, something in the tea made the world a little wavy

find me that hare, i want a scone
the white roses are still there, i want a jabberwocky of my own

please give me a design, i'll sew it up for you
NO THAT ONE'S MINE, i'll make tea for two

i want to save the world, then again it really doesn't matter
'cause you won't understand a word, i'm mad as a hatter
Zachery Oct 2018
To ****?
That is quite the thrill.
To feed corpse to the grinding mill.
To hear the screams oh so shrill.
To swallow the cyanide pill
But just till...
After all I'm as mad as a hatter
...Thank You
Hope Lee Aug 14
We need to get away
From here
From our problems
From reality.

We'll fall down the rabbit hole
All it takes is one simple misstep
We'll run away to Wonderland
Away from our tears
And fears
come on
let's go
just you and me
Finally free.

The Mad Hatter will invite us for tea,
Tell us about things we have yet to see.
We'll meet the mouse and the March Hare
Act like we don't have a single care
Because everything is grand
Nothing is bland
When you go to Wonderland...

Come now
Take my hand
And we'll run away.
I wonder what the Cheshire Cat will say?
Will he grin his infamous grin?
Teach us the true meaning of madness?
Or will he simply vanish, forgetting his smile?

We ran away to Wonderland
to forget our worst nightmares
Quite like the Queen of Hearts,
She chops off heads,
Plays croquet,
Orders her army of playing cards
to chase us out of her kingdom.

Wonderland isn't our place.
But Darling do wipe those tears from your pretty face,

Reality can't be so bad,
Especially if we're both mad.
I was rereading Alice In Wonderland and got inspired so enjoy the outcome.
zebra Mar 29
you need each other like a vampire needs blood
you've always loved her ***
those long legs
unexpected arguments
the word no
fantasies of make up ***
make up ***

late night sneaking farts
off spring
debt and drudgery
till half dead
weight gain from a sagging liver
and retching love

labyrinth's of desire and anger
divorce; the sword of Damocles
a mad hatter chandelier

seeing stupid through her eyes
my face like a vitrine of broken masks
the way she looks in floppy slippers
or dressed up in black and pearls

snoring with a gaping mouth
of floating spirits in intricate patterns
of  darkness made of nothing

making believe your with someone else
*** fantasies I've never spoken of
in sultry dioramas of glistening leg shows
mosaic starred
baiting Shanghai nights

on my knees again
eating thorns
and she is more adorable than the rumba
a hot arsonist setting me on fire
canopy of flowers
golden apples and blood
pouring down shade sun and rain

decades of the same sentences
and the same dead sea silences
in claustrophobic tangles
of devotion

seeing who dies first
and left desolate;
with a legacy of remembrance
that chews like a moth to cloth
lantern of vapors; weeping
flicker heart

it beats the hell out of being alone
at the end I go back to the beginning

the marrying kind
Indigo May 2
Some say that I’m as lost as Alice.
So what. Are you really that callous?

A lot also say I’m as mad as the Hatter.
But if you really cared, it wouldn’t matter.

I’ve also been told, that often my thoughts are in a different world.
Because often time I like to sing and twirl.

A few might say I’m a bit off when it comes to my head.
But I just have a big imagination, at least that’s what my mom always said.

And I’m often in a hurry, so they call me White Rabbit.
But most of the time I’m late, its kind of a habit.

I can also be a little crazy, and often considered as the Queen of Hearts.
But I will also add, I make some wicked good tarts.

But to be honest, I can go insane and smile like the Cheshire Cat.
And when I get no sleep, I can be a brat.

I feel lost and confused in reality.
And it always makes me want to flee.

So, because I’ve spent so long in Wonderland.
Can someone please take me to Neverland?
Bo Tansky May 21
Didn’t have time to pack a suitcase
News of your arrival
For those supposedly
Seeking  your survival
Unexpectedly came too soon
They called ‘code blue’
‘code blue’
Usurpers of free will
Moving in for the mourning ****
How dare you
How dare you.

What conformity belies the truth of your aggression?
What sadistic urges your imperious suppression?
Monsters in blue
What did I do to you?
How dare you
How dare you

Five came guns blazing
While I sat happily sun gazing
They threw you into the backseat of their cruiser
Shackled and tackled
And black and blue
Bam, bam, bam mame
Now do you understand
Monsters in blue
What did I do to you?
How dare you
How dare you

I don’t play by your rules
Because you’re fools

It was early spring
Barely a mist
Pisces you old daydreamer
They labeled you a fall risk
Isn’t it the season of renewal?
Was there something that I missed?
A sledgehammer to crack a nut
Sometimes I get really, really ******.
If it’s a broken tread
So be it.

An orange bracelet
Separates us from them.
The walking condemned
Who march to their own beat
Hey, monsters in blue
Mad as a hatter
Are you
I’m pointing the finger at you

My loathing I can hardly contain
You think me insane
My clarity is so beyond your ability to see
I don’t play by your rules
Because you’re all fools
Your conformity is a deformity in this crazy world
Excuse me if I’m barking mad
And a trifle sad
This baptism by fire
Stirred my ire
You asked no questions, no need
Never asked how I plead
You took his word, unquestionably
Would you have done the same
If he were a she?

By just what authority
Do you throw out democracy?
Ball and chain
Is the name of your game
Monsters in blue
What did I do to you..

My anger quite soothing
Someone brings me a smoothie

Didn’t want to end on a sour note
But if I ever get my hands on your throat
I might squeeze
So, I'm down on my knees
Praying for deliverance
From you
Monster in blue.
Annie Setter Jan 10
How possibly can I listen to you
If you are trying to shove it down my throat
If my eyes bleed more abundantly than tears fall
but what else can come out but blood
After you allow my head to be stuffed with stars.
with planets.
with words.
art music letters ghosts emotions scars–

what it is like to be in one's own deathbed
i will never know
until the ghosts tell me.
i can never be good at what they want me to
so i will be just another blurry face

i am the mad hatter on the closing brink of insanity
Classy J Jun 28
Most can’t understand me, to be honest I don’t understand me either,
All because I won’t conform to all ya sheepish lizards.
Snaking each other in order to eat all the gizzards.
In a land where everyone is ******* bitter,
Spitting around their toxic chatter.
Last time I checked my business isn’t apart of your matters.
Last time I checked you were not my creator.
Thinking you know better,
Stop it I’m only filled with so much laughter.
To me your advice is like anime filler.
Womp, a womp womp like some Charlie Brown chatter.
And I don’t **** with snakes, I only **** with ladders.
They say Life is a board game that results from domino factors.
But if everything is by chance, then I’m ok with being seen as the mad hatter.
A conspiracy thinker, that goes outside the box to find more and better answers.
Instead of sitting on ones *** like the rest of yawl wankers.
That be crying about the **** I spit, but sorry I don’t make music for ******* toddlers.
If you want family friendly entertainment go watch Mr.Rodgers.
And if you keep acting like a little *****, I’ll have to get you a shock collar.
For most of yawl are second rate bug zappers.
And I am the beyonder.
Your nick miller.
I’m the Undertaker.
Your Rob Schneider.
I’m Christopher Plummer.  
Look We ain’t in the same league,
You best believe, don’t **** with my expertise.
Yawl ain’t real, yawl fake as a weave.
I’m the Havarti, your the blue cheese.
You can’t measure up to me.
So back off, with all your pathetic critiques.
And just respect the technique.
Verse 2:
Respect the technique or prepare to take heat.
Smoked out and hung from one’s feet.
Ain’t no way to opt-out as I won’t fall for your deceit.
Do you think I’m fresh from the teet?
For I’m not one you can simply defeat.
Or be blind sided by all your *******.
Why can’t you see?
Why do you lean on Ignorance?
******* around, drugged out, like Charlie sheen.
Why do you fake innocence?
We are all **** on the inside?
But a lot of yawl **** on the outside too!
I guess some people can’t escape or hide?
Escape or hide from what is actually true.
From what is true.
Hating on my technique.
Hating that unlike you I’m actually unique.
Hating that I have the courage to not be a sheep.
Consuming the feed the media forces into you and me.
Getting us addicted to toxicity, in order to not say a little peep.
Can’t you see we are not actually free?
Can’t you see you’re overdosing on deceit?
If only you weren’t to blind to see.
You might just learn to respect the technique.
Look We ain’t in the same league,
You best believe, don’t **** with my expertise.
Yawl ain’t real, yawl fake as a weave.
I’m the Havarti, your the blue cheese.
You can’t measure up to me.
So back off, with all your pathetic critiques.
And just respect the technique.
Lae Mar 3
I found myself in wonderland,

a false fairytale to be exact,

i think i have lost my mind,

but i hope i get back.

I fell in a rabbit hole endlessly,

my head is spinning vigorously,

i think i am going crazy,

so i ran and ran carelessly.

Today i met the hatter,

laughing over some matter,

out of the blue he gave me a reminder,

that this dream was a killer.

Confused from the warning,

i woke up from dreaming,

i held my hands when it started trembling,

for the things i don't remember doing.
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