The Countess Bathory of Wonderland

It sits flat upon the Sunday paper,
Now splattered with paint,
Black with red lips and a heart on its cheek,
Not quite finished, hopefully soon,
Purple handled paint brushes,
Dry and scented like lemongrass
Lay strewn upon the table,
I envision the mask when it is completed
With thick, gold rims around the eyes,
And a black and white stripe beneath,
While the red lips speak malice,
Hollow eyes with no conscience,
I am looking into the soul
Of the Queen of Hearts herself,
Black like death, fathomless,
A smile plays about her deep, red lips,
Her white rabbit dressed in blue and red,
Always late for a very important date,
Stands fast at her side,
His nose twitches as he remembers
Every young girl he lured
Into the hollow of the tree
To take that long fall through time
Into Wonderland,
Where the Cheshire cat taunts,
And leads to dead ends
The walrus and the carpenter
tempt the naïve oysters to their dinner table,
the Mad Hatter wild with Mercury in his brain,
sits at a table made of Un-birthdays past,
and the Caterpillar smokes his hukka pipe,
smiling slyly at her from his petal perch.
As she treads down the path,
Lamenting each dead end she sees,
At last entering the garden maze of the queen,
All who enter here never return,
Coming upon the deck of cards
Painting the roses red
With the blood of girls past,
Grinning crookedly with each stroke of the brush.
A young, blond Alice bold enough to stand,
Is immediately brought to the queen
To perish upon her pale hand,
Her blue eyes filled with dread
As the crowd shouts
“Off with her head”
The queen’s lips curl into a smile,
Rejoicing silently of the girl’s youth,
Virgin blood will fill her bath tonight,
The young girl is brought to the executioner
By a malignant black spade,
The Countess Bathory of Wonderland’s
Youth will never fade