Alice.

Here sits Alice,

golden hair

pinafore,

going where she has never gone before

a compass to guide her

a quill to finish her tale

a crown to remind her of her worth

Alice was once a doll,

pretty and porcelain

so high upon the pedestal,

ever pretty even as she lay…

shattered

broken

fine china painting adorning her mouth

ensuring her words were never spoken

Then at once by potion, awoken

Longing to be daring, yet her path woven with red herrings

she stands lost

in the midst of the mist

she cast aside propriety

only to be bound by chains of anxiety

frozen in one spot

never able to say what she wants

struggling to break free

bruises on her pretty porcelain skin

that’s where it all begins

Somehow casting aside her chains

These internal demons of anguish

cripple her with pain

Her skin grew thicker

Her heart grew bigger

Alice learned of her own fairy tale

was simply her days told in stories

In her Wonderland,

this abyss that she calls home

she finally finds her solace in being alone

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