I put all my thoughts down in scribbled pen and ink so years from now and miles away they'll form a chain that links all of my ideas into a tapestry of all the names and places that bled and ran from me.
I've got books full of pages full of ink that never dries forming my collection of self-indulgent lies. I made myself a victim, I've got myself to blame. Lost again in dreaming, nothing's really changed.
I welcomed in a monster and shared with them my bed. "Above and below: equals", that was what we said. Blood left on the contract where she made her mark: a deal well-sealed with kisses and a knife-wound in the dark.
Everywhere I go I bring my looking glass so now I can spot dangers before they cross my path. But I've made a habit of looking inwardly where only liars and demons are smiling back at me.
I wave to my new friends and becon them "come near". I tell them all my secrets and they whisper in my ears of tea-time in the forest, of jabberwoks and Queens, of words loosed from loose lips: lies that I believed.