the mad hatter awoke from the same dream

The mad hatter awoke from the same dream again with a shake and a shouting to the rafters- eastern and northern dimensions unseen by most everyone. The fortune of the house of cards looks fragile to say the best, and she worried that the dream would come true- sooner than later. Beasts hide only for a time in the depths of the darkness before curiosity perfumed animal hostess- the wooded glen and moors of a time without capital and recompense. We shall be forced to unhinge together or to fall to the frail and the holy grail matters- a hat of a whole different kindred candle.

Given pills to swallow, hard and condescending, we write together in the pit- once only to look up at the sky and shine through the heaviness of the heavens. I choose my own earthen serendipity, luxury and fork tuning gave me the risen preconditioning to look the red queen in her one green eye and laugh.

Fireflies were instructed to lighten the mood and they surface to the top of my head and out of my third eye, leaving me room to grow, outstretched and forgetful. I killed a man in my sleep and the church held me: armory and chivalry so small that it can fit in the space between my fingers. The mission moon betrayed our chess game to the serpent harlequin who never smiles. Where am I in this space that breathes and only rests to heal the sickened children of the New Damned Dawn.

Eyes mourned the dark circles around them and crossed finders that dreams can play hide and seek long enough for me to drink once again with the monsters that mingle amongst us. The wonderland senses help my mind to make one more connection, one more vision, once more give and re-take in the midst of sirens and venom teeth that have driven me utterly mad with reason. Lightening was the patriarch head of unions and battlements closed down for construction. Listen to the fireworks deep underneath your insides.

There might have been a moment- a silence that slipped by- that I could’ve saved my beaten down brain. I missed it, a fantasy and all now is but a glimmer of pieces of skin sewn together by strokes of a cursed luck, a pinned down angel who doesn’t speak of the things she has seen in the coming ages to pass through the eye of a needle, standing on a clothespin.

I bled from the inside and was diagnosed as deserving such an apostle of gruesome Leviathan. Bare your tongue to my lips once more and there will be nothing left. Horror in an instant was meant to change me forever. The twinkle in my throat snuffed out by the lycan divergence from my closeted younger self.

I must cry without warning for the instincts I’ve seen that strike down the spirits of hallowed saints and servants to the undertaker. I whisper- to no one- my story, my groggy memory and steamy lessons forced to learn.

To be honest, my lovlies and lillipads- I beg to forget yet the script replies in my head to every nuanced step forward. I reconcile my anger through confused and drowning waters: nothing, as of now, is at all clear. So it is then that I join the mangled masses of the dishonest, on our knees we listen to the wind wrap around the crypts of the elite.

I have it not in me to tell the whole truth, as it all happened- even if I could remember all grit  and dank opinions- all harshness and dissonant screams that echo through the shallow hallways in which I trespass.

God, please don’t take off my clothes again, never asking or polite. Demands are high for the wanting and violation was always signed on the blank page of my memory. Never a glance to my eyes, never hearing my cries late at night once home again- take a shower to wash you out of me again with soap and festering. I forever unclean and not trusting: fucking you or anyone else in this profane world. I am full to the earlobes with acid eating away at my lifelines. I keep quiet, head down to the dirty carpet and try not to breathe too hard.

Maybe it isn’t a good idea to re-think the past, trying to figure out why me. Whom do I blame, who can I love without warning and coughing. But I do listen to the past as I struggle to find a path through the mire and myth- most of which I’ve blocked out completely. I wish for clarity and to truly remember, but my brain disagrees and is as stubborn as I am. No, you don’t understand and neither can I, through and through with the rain still hitting the shutters of that house with such force as to summon the dead.

I curse the ground I tromp on and yet smile at a cup of coffee, a pair of kind eyes while I wait in line for cereal, a moment to myself to regain control of the events of my past and present as they flash by. Could I have deserved this at 17? Maybe the roman gods would think so- or so it seems the world would want me to understand. The mad hatter has no more comment at this time.

I may be prone to lucid dreaming and pornography but I have a vengeance that shouts down like a tornado and will channel my historic pain through the ages and future losses and despondents. I haunt the wicked in me, as my calling permits me so, that is the wicked in you and you still remain unclear in my visions in the morning.