The gypsy found the chasm and down she went. Feeling like Alice on a heavier day. Bright lights and sparks. Boots and tamberines.
She fell so hard. Carrying all those things that she carried. The things we all carry. The jingle and the jangle and the glitter that weighs like mountains. The power in a voice and how it makes you a God.
How sometimes they called you a Queen but then they forget and the glitter fades.
The bottom wasn’t as dank as she worried. There was no dormouse or white rabbit. Just the sputtering of white dove wings.
Illusions. All illusions and nowhere to run.
A laced hand placed against a mirror. A beat of a drum. The hum of falling to the other side. And in the peripheral the outstretched smirk of a Cheshire cat. Larger than the sun.
The wonder and the wandering your mind does. How they said the masses were weapons and they were coming for who you weren’t.
The creeping inside the veins that reminds you, you aren’t the same you anymore.
She runs through the rose garden. Remembers the songs there and cries. Leans against the bramble that is moving; alive. Sees the house of cards coming for her head. The mob chanting and the fine star so far away.
Reaches into her garter and finds the stiletto. Whispers… who’s the deadly weapon now?
*Title taken from lyrics of the song “Alice” by Stevie Nicks.