Raindrops on Roses in Her Twisted Mind: A Dark Alice Tells You Her Story.

The lush red rose lies
On a bed of crushed blossoms,
All of the flowers that she conquered with beauty
Left as heartless ugly corpses,
Below her in mind and body.
Left petal-less by the Queen of Thorns
Her throne perched on the mountain of torn leaves,
The youthful rose watches over the black land,
Whipping the lesser plants with thorny stems.
Keeping them in line,
With a deadly red gaze.
Their torrents of blood stain her petals crimson,
Splashes of agony and grief strewn across the soft fabric,
The lightless sanctuary
Of her twisted black heart,
Has a carpet of crooked feathers,
Broken and distorted by the blood-hungry wolves that feasted upon their angels,
Stained them with life-ink as if they were fragile parchment,
The ink spelling out a story of woe.

As you breathe,
Quick and short,
With each breath you violently rock with piercing pain,
As the thorn lodged in your heart burrows deeper,
Pushing and shoving you
Off of the barren cliff of sanity,
Into the dark rainbow bouquet of insanity.
The flowers of madness embrace you,
Cushioning you, just a little too tight, with their vivid, colourless petals.
You begin to choke on the petals as they slowly smother you,
And as you fight frantically to be free,
You catch a glimpse of absurdity.
And the sinister grin of the feline bids you to a troubled sleep.
You lay there,
Helpless,
Wedged between the Ace and the Joker,
The diamond edges cutting into you,
As the royal lunacy screams at you,
Whispering evil things with a voice of thunder.
Black eyes with yellow pupils stare into you,
Trapping you in
The chess pieces dance on your ivory coffin,
Where you lay bound by thorny stalks,
Duelling with shattered swords,
Oblivious to the approaching horde
Of frenzied flowers.
Time drips by slowly and you remember,
Briefly,
Who you once were.
A beautiful blossom,
A bride of the moonlight,
Gowned in soft pink petals,
Innocent and as sweet as summer’s finest fruit.
You were
Untainted by the holy darkness,
So unholy it becomes what it is not
As it digs its bloody claws into your stem,
And drags you down into the dark womb of the clockwork earth.
The cogs move slowly along,
As you are pulled down the jagged glass staircase.
Your body battered and worn,
Pressed against the coloured glass,
Cold against the bare skin exposed by the rips in your elegant dress.
The red sand flows through the clockwork hourglass,
The heart of the porcelain broken doll you reside in,
Eyes glassy and wide,
Staring down its prey,
Blood red circles on its chalk white skin.
Fancy dress covered in dust,
Elegant embroidery fraying.

The queen stares down at the shattered blossoms,
The flowers that are now nothing more
Than broken puppets,
With tangled string strangling them,
Gagging them,
Silencing their pained screams.
The tambourine starts up a steady rhythm,
The heavy bells begin to toll,
The golden fire burns bright
As the flutes begin to weave their winding spell,
And the violins screech into life,
Softening the sound.
The dancers,
Clad in heavy, ornate ball gowns,
And tailored black, swallow-tailed suits,
All with exquisite masks of the finest designs,
Gracing their pale faces,
As they begin the aristocratic masquerade,
Dancing on thin, black ice.
The Queen enters the icy ballroom,
Majestic dress laden with an ocean of pearls, satin and velvet,
Mask depicting a dignified wolf,
With a rose in its gaping jaws.
The dancers stop,
Turning their masked faces to the Queen,
Glittering dragonflies,
Well-groomed tigresses,
Hawks with petrified faces.
The wolf responds with an evil grin,
And she steps onto the floor to dance.
None approach her,
For fear of death and pain.
The wolf that treads so softly on the cracked ice,
Has her crimson eyes set on one flower.
A princely purple Gladiolus,
Who stands at the far edge of the clearing,
And averts his royal gaze from the Thorny Queen.
The crowd parts as she makes her way towards him,
The boldness in her rose eyes veiling the bashful Peony princess that hid in her shadow,
The princess that stands alone at a white altar,
Holding a bouquet of pink flowers,
Clothed in a simple white dress,
Fit for the innocent girl,
Stepping into the maze of love with no map.
The Queen steps up to the Prince and looks up into his wide eyes.
She opens her red bud mouth and asks,
Gently and politely as possible for one so corrupted,
If he will dance.
The crowd gasps,
They know that if he refuses, he will die,
And the proud Prince looks down at the black-widow beauty before him,
And with no hint of fear in his voice,
Refuses.
The Queen,
Her eyes open wide.
Her lip begins to quiver, and luminous tears spring up in her eyes.
The mirror in which,
The silent Princess was reflected,
Shatters into a thousand lucid pieces,
Like the inky heart that rests in her pale breast,
Melted by the tears.
The people recoil, begin to flee,
As raindrops fall down onto the ice,
Soaking the dresses with a torrent of liquid misery.
The evil queen falls to her knees,
Cries for her broken heart.

You have been given a chance.
Your salvation is at hand.
The cloaked figure that you have been handed over to,
Will give you a new life,
No longer a blossom,
But blooming into a perfect rose.
There is a condition, however.
To your new found freedom,
The angels stare down at you, the once condemned, as he tells you
Of your fate
If you do not continue to be
The most dazzling, most exquisite
Flower in the entire world.
You nod your head quickly,
Soft, pink eyes darting towards the collection of savage blades
On the opposite wall.
You look down at the heavy chains that bind you,
Crafted out of thorny vines,
As you slowly bloom into the rose,
A bloodstained flower of mysterious intent.
And quickly recall when you were stolen.
Plucked from the perfect garden,
Where cruel flowers taunted you and belittled you,
And caterpillars taunted and mocked you with long riddles,
As they chewed on your leaves.
And rabbits rushed past,
As if they were late for an important tea party,
Digging into your roots.
As you change,
The sleepy rodent’s gaze turns to one of anger,
And you are pulled into sleep.
Blue and pink petals fall away,
Exposing a fragile heart,
That the darkness quickly infects.
Your vision clouds.
Your world fades.

The raindrops pull at the Queen’s petals,
Washing off the red paint,
To reveal a crisp white rose,
Burdened by unspeakable sins.
The rose smiles to the heavens,
Sadly,
Melancholy hands clasping her petals.
She fades away as the paint drips off of the canvas,
And Alice is once again lost in Wonderland.

Poem by Fantasiaanzu1

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