Blotted out thoughts on ink
It’s like remembering amnesia
An oxymoronic paradox
That won’t let you sleep until
You’ve solved the mystery
Who shot the sheriff?
Who bled the blotter
And shattered the sink?
A murderous rage indeed
For the villain of this piece
The red masque is staring in the dreams
Of the children who begged to leave
From gas-masks to hand-guns
To the assassin of the White Queen
This is wonderland entwined, combined
With the nightmare scenes
That stop you sleeping, every so often
While ravens descend upon the mindscape
So carefully crafted to bar access
To the mentality so finitely rotten
It’s tearing apart at the seams
Easily dissembled at the hands of a God
He will lumber and you will stop
And beg, and cower, and scream
As omnipotent fury clouds you like flies
Upon the corpse of the childhood you used to see
Now only recaptured through nostalgia,
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