white rabbits and harlequin girls

The nerves in your body whisper
stories of stress and confining bedrooms;
curtains made of orchid green leaves and
men in long white coats with
trays in their hands, offering stale tap
water and pills the size of baby brains.

Girl, it's terrifying to imagine
the world you came from,
what they did to you there.
I'd much rather have you here
in this maze of English gardens,
meandering with me and laughing
as we search for wishes resembling
rubies hidden in the dirt and
tangled in greedy vines,
sparkling like a bloody rose's ego.

Girl, can you blame me for wanting
to keep you in this dreamland where
white rabbits talk, wearing jackets
with clocks dangling from their pockets?
Can you blame me for only seeing you as
the person who will save my life,
as opposed to the sick creature
that you claim to be inside?

I don't care about the past
that tears you up,
making your tears run black at night.
As far as I'm concerned,
they don't deserve you there.

Alice, give me what's left of your time here
because I can't promise that we won't wreck
havoc every now and then in fits of anger
with clashing teacups, but if in the end,
you're the only one who understands why
I feel like an object in everyone else's hands;
a keeper of secrets, a granter of wishes;
selfish or otherwise, tragic;
then, Alice, you'd know that you can't deny
our connection, sweetheart.

Give me a little time,
that's all I ask for now..