The Forecast of the time machine

I forgot the past and surged forward with darkness shot through me like an arrow grazing my left arm with a pinch and a trickle of blood. This cell, this cage, this mind- to shake free once again would be a pleasure. I am soul searching to find me in the mess of my masks that cluster on my floor when the forecast looked sinister. I find the more masks I take off, the faster they multiply in my periphery. I found my way through the labyrinth once again and follow that maze vision towards the entering gates of the underworld. I come up through the river and gaining speed, seeping into the veins of the trees I found a home to sleep in the daytime until the moon shadows my face once again.

Let us praise the demi-gods of production and industry, says the crowd, and she tries to tell her story through clenched teeth and barely breathing. I am on trial for the wrong reasons to the wrong answers completely, says Alice, through her red card’s prison. And she curtsies now to make sure to appease the red queen as of late because the mirror through which she must return looks sinister to her Alice self now, all warped and shifting when she walked up to it and tried to smile. Alice seemed crooked to herself in the current undercurrents of reverse psychology. And the mad hatter was her transport through and back in time. The lunar eclipse was as of yet to happen in wonderland and we are still waiting for the darkness to consume us again- the white tiles and figures on the chessboard giving off no reflection.

The looking glass flashes back to re-visit past lunar eclipses, the hallowed marks are inscriptions on the body, the churches owning their histories and giving in to the story of the tombs of former prophets that show us what they have seen, the fights fought, and we know that hard times come and go. Somehow we fight the battles and watch the blood shed and continue on. I suppose cause we must, someone must stand up to the tyrannies ahead and behind us. 

I account for the things, the weaponry, in my head that burst through like a dragon out of its egg. I shed tears as blood runs down innocent faces in a world that seems to drink it in and goad their hatred and fear on to their children, edge of a sword being sharpened. Though the pendulum ticks on, I look for the things that keep me on every cloud’s tipped silver shining through the sun and the fog until I wake up in the morning and put my clothes on for another day in this time machine.