My Wonderland

I walked the puissant hills of golden midnight
Salty blood of martyrs covered my face, coating me in the madness of sainthood
Seeked I out the only drink to slake my unholy thirst
After endless walking spread before me churned the pool of malice
I cupped my hands and drank deep, the urge to be nailed to things receding
My laughter rang in jarring dissonance upon this sacred place
Seeming to rebound and change becoming cackles of glee and whimpers of pleasure

My strange journey continued and I looked upon a field of verdant blue, where the grass writhed and moaned in an arboreal orgy moving as the wind struck them, sighing and pressing together, some moving with the wind and others against

Further still were the Lying Angels who sat upon rocks and sang pretty lies to all who would listen
They have no eyes you see only perfect mouths and ears to hear themselves
It is said that the first lie of the first angel was told of vanity, that after looking upon himself he said he was the most beautiful and perfect creature in all creation and upon seeing his more gorgeous brother he killed him in a fit of rage, then plucked out his own eyes so never would he again see any sight more beautiful than his own

And then the most dangerous part of my journey I stood upon the cliffs of pleasure
You can hear them from miles away, they ache with power, the mere sound feels like wet silk tongues tracing the nerves inside your skin one by one by one
And the closer you get the stronger the feeling, the wind caresses your deepest held desires, the trees speak to you of love unending and the sunshine on your skin plays a tune of victory over fate itself

At the tips of the cliffs, far above the jagged Rocks of Success where a multitude of bodies are strew, is a Cup
The cup is simply named Pain
It is said he who drinks deep of this cup shall know the Truth
But that is not my quest upon this terrible night

And I am tempted by the cliffs but I stop when I see the cup, though I am tested sorely
And I hold the Cup of Pain in one hand and in the other the Knife of Love bought with the blood of martyrs and innocence
With a dull ache I plunge it into my breast and take out my still beating blue heart and bathe it in the Cup
The feeling is beyond words. I could spin you tales upon tales of horrific sights and sounds to make you cringe in wonder of the strange twistings of my mind. But I will not.
I will leave it to you to picture for yourself. Know you that I sought this dread cure out as my last and only hope.

And as the last great tides of pain receded over my heart it became as red as the blood on the lips of angels and it fit once more in my breast
And at long last I felt again
And I wept there upon the cliffs of pleasure
Great streams and lakes came from my eyes emptying out my soul

I left the knife inside the cup, upon the cliffs of pleasure for Love and Pain have always gone hand in hand and they continue to do so to this day