I find an old mirror of mine, shattered into pieces on the floor. I pick up a fragment and look in it. "Who is that girl?" I ask to myself. Who is that girl? She is not the Alice that once looked into that now broken mirror and went through the looking glass to wonderland. This girl is a mess. Annoyingly ginger hair that got her picked on during school, the once faded scars on her right wrist opened again, lesbian, an outcast, failure at everything she tries. Singing is her outlet for the pain; her music is her sanity, both taken by her brother that her mother loves more. She's fine being a daddy's girl but wants her mom to accept her too. Not just shove her away or use her as a servant. No, this is not Alice, nor is this her wonderland filled with dreams that have died. She wants that world back but, it only adds to her everyday pain. She loves her girlfriend, but sometimes she thinks things are moving to fast for her. She's so slow that sometimes she can barely keep up with reality. Her hopes, her dreams, her thoughts, useless. No one wants to her about them. No one wants to hear her. She stops singing, her music lost. Her voice and sanity gone. "Where is Alice?" "Who is Alice?" "Who WAS Alice?" all questions she asks herself daily. She doesn't know who she is anymore. She gives up, blood dripping off of her knife, she says her final goodbyes to the world. "Goodbye Wonderland, goodbye Alice." Then she's gone. Few say goodbye, the rest don't care or are asking themselves, "Who's Alice?"