I have left the stage

I once danced for the Croquet Duchess,
kabuki masks veiling her bite;
compliments sharp as mint on fresh wounds.
She clapped in gloved restraint,
palms skirting truth's edge.
I bowed.
She yawned.
Our lies lingered like smoke.

Now I send regrets to her gilded invites.

I passed the Clock-Fox at dawn,
his hiss a whip: “Late again,
to claim your importance.”
I offered a strawberry, red as forgotten dreams,
and he dissolved into his ticking void.
I'm off his relentless dial.

At tea with the Half-Hatter,
masks flipping mid-sip;
one for deals, one for dreams,
one for the mirror's lie.
He probed my trade.
“Watering plants offline,” I murmured.
He choked on his curated self,
throat tight with unsaid regrets.

The Algorithm Caterpillar scrolled,
exhaling metrics in neon hum.
“Digestible now,” he droned.
“Don’t bleed. Just brand.”
I slipped him a poem, no hooks attached.
He wilted, pixels fading.
I sipped coffee, drafts buried deep,
still tasting ink's quiet ache.

The Mirror Twins approached,
Click and Clack,
echoing my winning facade;
just enough shine to keep the dance.
They hungered for a selfie, mirrors starved.
I gave silence.
They fractured into forgotten likes.

Lady Elsewise glided near,
velvet menace uncoiling:
“Prove your worth, so I can price it.”
I grinned, scars softening.
“Proof's a traded ghost.
I've claimed presence instead.”
She spat diamonds, sharp as shattered vows.
I walked on.

I write as rain falls, unchecked.
I build where grass insists on green.
I speak into the clamor;
a whisper the noise craves:
unforced truth.

The kingdom withholds its applause.
The duchess rolls powdered eyes.
But the fox slumbers deep.
The hatter dips his head.
The poem suffices.

Nothing to prove.
The Wonderverse unfolds mine.
And I am
being me
quietly.

F.S.F