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Description
I – Malice In Wonderland

Unlocked, would doors and prison cells
And windows fling their shutters wide?
A dam withholding too much hurt.
A prick will do, but can a heart?
A heart so screaming to burst those walls
That maybe, where an outlet trickled
Slowly through congested cracks,
She built a tunnel through your eyes.

Bleakest depths yield to a rise
of rushing waters, sighs and shakes.
Sweet Alice, sample prey to
foetal urges and futile whims.
Malice in wonderland, push forth,
traverse the picturesque. Through valleys,
rivers aid your way,
take comfort in her cries.

II – Daylight Nocturne

Full moon teeth in grimaced smile and
stifling her whimpers, Alice dwells within
her dreams, collapsed and scared, beneath the sun.
Screening her from screams of vice,
flowers bend to echo shadow, penetrating
darkness, using light to help their
fight and save her from corruption.
Self-sacrifice the plants know well.

“Do you recall the blinding heat
of cold sweat in the morning sun?
A film disguising strives for knowledge,
strains to counter innocence
(they know you’re trying to escape).
Condescending darlings, bitter
patience and a longing stare through
Father’s eyes to unearth what’s behind.”

III – Corruption

Stabbing pupils through the day,
her own stare firing darts of lust
that pushing, thrashing, smashed their way
through prison cells of unseen shame.
Fleeing from her jail of chaste,
her mind, unbridled, streaked away,
and in the city’s bleakest streets,
found refuge in a hidden place.

Subtle street lights etch their glow
round petered tales of love and woe,
now shrunk by fate, essential stalker
of the learning mind.
Slinking past her ear’s defence,
embedding in her callow brain,
and slowly oozing fear, he sets
his prompt for the reign of sin.

IV – The Lonely Prince

Her soul entreating her to move, now Alice
rose, devoid of direction. But as
the owl may clearly survey his field
with eyes so keen as to cut the air,
so Alice forced herself to recognize
what lay ahead, and though she knew not how
to tell a beggar from a whore, instinct remained
still faithful, and she hurried past them all.

“’Sink’ is just off kin and sin and inks
that kiss my skin,” a horrid artist called,
his hypodermic paintbrush tracing blissful
death into his newly blackened veins.
As, sickened by that foulest verve, she
scuttled blindly through the street,
a lonely Prince, just as afraid,
came to assist her swift retreat…

Description
I – Malice In Wonderland

Unlocked, would doors and prison cells
And windows fling their shutters wide?
A dam withholding too much hurt.
A prick will do, but can a heart?
A heart so screaming to burst those walls
That maybe, where an outlet trickled
Slowly through congested cracks,
She built a tunnel through your eyes.

Bleakest depths yield to a rise
of rushing waters, sighs and shakes.
Sweet Alice, sample prey to
foetal urges and futile whims.
Malice in wonderland, push forth,
traverse the picturesque. Through valleys,
rivers aid your way,
take comfort in her cries.

II – Daylight Nocturne

Full moon teeth in grimaced smile and
stifling her whimpers, Alice dwells within
her dreams, collapsed and scared, beneath the sun.
Screening her from screams of vice,
flowers bend to echo shadow, penetrating
darkness, using light to help their
fight and save her from corruption.
Self-sacrifice the plants know well.

“Do you recall the blinding heat
of cold sweat in the morning sun?
A film disguising strives for knowledge,
strains to counter innocence
(they know you’re trying to escape).
Condescending darlings, bitter
patience and a longing stare through
Father’s eyes to unearth what’s behind.”

III – Corruption

Stabbing pupils through the day,
her own stare firing darts of lust
that pushing, thrashing, smashed their way
through prison cells of unseen shame.
Fleeing from her jail of chaste,
her mind, unbridled, streaked away,
and in the city’s bleakest streets,
found refuge in a hidden place.

Subtle street lights etch their glow
round petered tales of love and woe,
now shrunk by fate, essential stalker
of the learning mind.
Slinking past her ear’s defence,
embedding in her callow brain,
and slowly oozing fear, he sets
his prompt for the reign of sin.

IV – The Lonely Prince

Her soul entreating her to move, now Alice
rose, devoid of direction. But as
the owl may clearly survey his field
with eyes so keen as to cut the air,
so Alice forced herself to recognize
what lay ahead, and though she knew not how
to tell a beggar from a whore, instinct remained
still faithful, and she hurried past them all.

“’Sink’ is just off kin and sin and inks
that kiss my skin,” a horrid artist called,
his hypodermic paintbrush tracing blissful
death into his newly blackened veins.
As, sickened by that foulest verve, she
scuttled blindly through the street,
a lonely Prince, just as afraid,
came to assist her swift retreat…