Alice Underground


She rises like the sun into clouds of grey.
Smoke and pain. Stains on sheets 
and dark hair not her own tickling her face 
into half life. 

The monkey on the wind chimes plays the tune of last nights wine, on silver strings that hang on broken wings.

She rises to face the bitch game. A cracked frown in the frame, she knows the face but not the name. 

Its a fire fight against nights of killer heels 
that stab like steel the real life. Night and the lines of white that keep her upright. 

Its a slap dab job on eyes and gob 
hair tied up in stylish mess. 
Alisha does her best

She rises to face the greed of monsters 
she must feed. To be Alisha by day 
to pay….

For Alice’s nights in the underworld 
to be that girl who is loved 
not the cold bitch who lives in the world above.

© Dave Kavanagh 2016

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