“Alice”


“Oh my god.”
seems to be all I can quietly hear,
as it echoes ever so loudly throughout the cluttered chambers of my very mind.

I ask myself if I am going mad, in a moment of silence between the redundant resonance,
And of course I receive no response.

“You fickle, fickle thing.”
I think with a slightly afflicted chuckle.

I cannot have what isn’t mine, nor touch what’s under glass.
So how is it that you have what isn’t yours, and touch as though glass does not exist?

What is this personal plague I have contracted, whereas you seem to be immune?
Is there truly no antidote to calm these demons wrought forth by the likes of you?

Where is the back button, the off switch, the delete key?
How do you make something go away, that you inevitably want to keep?

And are you truly immune, or do you  yourself suffer as well?
I myself, assume the latter.
Why would a Knave endure the second,
For a Fool that never mattered…?

Jewel Elliott ‘Rivaleka” ⓒ2008
9/10/2008 - 4:38 AM