Alice the Addict

Maybe it wasn't just a hole, that Alice was looking down- Perhaps it was her own mortality, her own grave, dug in the earthy ground. Maybe she was standing there, looking through her looking glass, and watching her life pass by in a second's flash. Maybe the white rabbit was a magical creature, Powdery, white- Like fresh fallen snow. Maybe Alice was just thinking she was late- Because she had nowhere else to go. Sometimes, when I see an addict, I see Alice, vivid and clear- Staring down at that hole in the ground, trembling with fear. As the Cheshire cat waltzes by, and the Queen of Hearts, screams- I see that poor girl's eyes well with tears, As she puffs away all of her dreams. Maybe to you, it's Wonderland, but some of us know the truth- This world is full of mad hatters, and spilled tea, is its proof. So next time you walk by Alice, know that perhaps her reality isn't real- And as she goes down the rabbit's hole, She was crying out for someone, to help her heal.