When Alice Falls Poem by Sneha Murali

Usually when Alice falls down
That wretched rabbit hole
She props herself up at the bottom
Dusting the mud and grit off
The pretty laces of her dress

But my Alice fell
No limbs offered to lift her up
No hearts offered to cushion the fall
And nothing waiting for her at the bottom
The wind mutilating her lungs from within

With carrion stench, she struggles to breathe
Her windpipes tied tight with vines
Why did my Alice fall?
Why was her wings clipped?
Why was her lips stitched up with puppet string?

Puppet strings, which kept her up, which kept her going
And she’s stabbed with the heart-shaped spearhead
Ravished by watch-bearing rabid rabbits, each tick on their clock, spilling blood
Watched by a face, Cheshire cat smile
Sinking slowly into painful oblivion

Why did my Alice fall?

Usually Alice paints white roses red
But my Alice with red spilling out, is as good as dead
And she looked up at the hole
From which she fell; no doubt it had been
Nothing but a shortcut to hell

Why did my Alice burn?

My Alice was never the queen of hearts
Unable to count the cards she’s been dealt with
Running away from mad-hattered laugh
Running away, tripping often, from the guillotine
Shiny blades chasing her down
Demonic voices shouting “off with her head”

Why did my Alice fall?
Why did my Alice have to suffer?