Like that one girl Alice, hurtling
down that rabbit’s hole
deeper into madness
earth, onto my dress
unsure of where I’m
running to
the fantasy, lost
as I cry.
Mascara running, too.
I’m torn, like my
stockings, soul
soiled
Eat me. they say,
and I binge
not because they taste
so
good
but because I don’t know
how to stop
my head
bangs
against the wall
again and again
of this hole I’ve dug myself
again and again
doing the
same thing
expecting different results
having my cake
eating it, too,
this scone has grown
as I have
dry, dusty, and
I open my lips, not to speak truths
but ingest more lies
about myself,
and the taste of it floods
my mouth with the poison
making me small,
winking out of existence
not even a smiling Cheshire grin
I am
Nothing