Back To Wonderland.

i haven’t stopped to think.

And it’s been a while, so long I have forgotten how.

It’s hard to express myself now because I’ve let myself drown in the simplicities of life, forgetting that the core of my existence has always stemmed from my mind’s eye and the imaginary world it created.

Randomique in wonderland no more.

Have I forgotten it?

Is it calling me back?

It must be if I’ve managed to force a coherent train of thought to form, somehow.

What solicited this long forgotten 5$ philosophy was the lowest of the low, the most shallow of plots, the most linear story… I write when I’m provoked. I write best during numbing pain caused by a bruised ego or a tattered heart.

It’s no longer bearable on my own, without its impossible beauty. Yet, I came back to Wonderland for the solitude it offered.

I can’t stand reality, it wounds me with its routine of horrors. Every news story is yet another reminder of this world’s imperfections.

What can be worse than to be trapped in such a world?

I can’t help but run as fast my legs can take me, as far as possible, while this world grows smaller, people become nothing but dots and abstract lines, events are nothing but painful, yet distant reminders… this world shrivels up and dies.

The phoenix that emerges from the ashes is my creation of solitude and music. Pure perfection filled with colour and character, drama and wealth… all of my stories end well, even if I get carried away.

Am I rejected? Not pure enough? Spoiled by my own quests for shallowness?

Wonderland soon fades into a distant song; all dissipates around me and I can no longer hold on and merge with it.

It’s no longer mine to control, the Goddess has become the outcast.

There they are, my loyal friends and subjects, they stare at me sadly as they evaporate one by one… their names are distant tastes on my lips, their loving embrace is too weak to arouse my senses…

Are they the ones who dissipate or is it me?

I just want to say this…..

And the violins cue in.

Must I yell?

My mind has clouded my beautiful Wonderland.

The music is no longer pleasant, it’s takes the form, the sound, of broken glass.

Can I bring it back to life?

I dare you to move, Wonderland.

Can I save it from myself?

Can it save me from drowning, shrivelling up and dying with the rest of the world I came from?

But why must I go back? Can I stay here forever?

Why not?

It used to be so easy as a child, everything would cease to exist at once,

Oh how I burned with silly passions…

Did I let myself grow up when I promised I wouldn’t?

But did I grow old?…

All the things I promised myself, all the deadlines I didn’t make… I stand before my judge, myself, and every day is judgement day, every day I fail… the next I try and I begin the journey towards perfection all over again.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to enjoy or live it, it’s the fear, the time is running and I think of all the things I haven’t done and all the people I haven’t been…

I wait on the past, but the past is long gone…

Maybe it’s not Wonderland that needs the help,

but maybe I feel a little silly playing pretend at 21?…

How can I detach myself from all these realistic notions so that I can fly to the sky with a pair of balloons?

It’s sad, the only answers I can find are more rules, more restrictions, harder work… what have I become? I miss my lazy innocence… I miss when the world offered possibilities and not sadness……

This adult reasoning is dirt that won’t come off, no matter how hard I try to keep my new dress in its pretty blue state. Every day is the same, every dream is the same- I never get it right.

I’m never good enough.

I’ve always settled, no matter what I do.

I settle beforehand not to be disappointed.

Sweet words of friends and lovers are no longer encouraging, but are scornful and teasing. Their votes of confidence feel like lies.

Every day I wash myself and can’t help but feel dirty again, like I’ve missed a spot… Like I’m doing something wrong, any turn is just me going backwards from the spot where I’m supposed to be at.

The crowning of the success story will have to wait one more day… as I figure out once more what I love, and run from it.

It’s so hard, it is so hard. I will focus on something harder instead, because realizing your dreams can be risky… if you fail, you’re heart broken, you’re a failure and I am too old for this, too old at the ripe age of 21 to figure it out… I should have been Mozzart by the age of 8.

I’ll lie here instead, curled up on the blue grass fields of Wonderland and try to breathe…

Try to breathe… myself and Wonderland to life…

With every song, with every breath a little bit of soul will come out.