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.