I’ll  keep making you laugh,
this way you can’t scream 😱 at me.

on Stage
a peacock of makeup  
the comedian
bating thunderous uproar
knighting fury
turning humour over the belfries
of the overcharged assemblage

he fouls with them
utilizing his vile material
putting together ideas that no brain wants scribe
visuals
you create yourself
(but
your twist at his bidding)
you become broken down and ******
applied apart by his gagging speech
and his splintering costumes of mood

the comedian builds from this
until rage
and ruptures of relief
integrate...

a berserk laughter is result
kettled in the mob reaction
a collective convulsion
a need
more than a mirth
japes dressed in death
have foraged a credible rebirth

his soldiers attired
he has seized his corps of souls
his Mad recruits of Chaos
the comedian pulls out a plastic toy Sabre  
and directs the revulsion
(the Grand Prank)
in a charge against
the wealthy neighbours

no picnic when panic
no streets unborn here

germinal ;
creature undresses
from his cool rubbery dead skin
steps
scent free
into the sodium light
and works on its pallor

fleshed out from the plumbing
a manic talent
it sports the label , Mr. Talon
and favours a facade of mercurial cosmetics

now,
a character most vividly colourful and male-ish
a voice
a maddened song
he breaks his face
and makes it a smile

armed with this sickle
bringing his comedic heavings to the public
he goes gory across the fresh laundry
a violence upon the canvas
a spree upon welcoming sadness
an open mockery
breaking ease
and seizing upon an audience

no more chiding
from within the shade
(egging on villains
and dropping muse-meal)
the folk hero
the prankster
this fierce performer of mischief
takes the stage
in a full suit of teeth-skin
and he’s really quite ravenous
for your abiding applause

wacky butterfly,
with a whimsical flight plan!
joking with movements.

The comedian is depressed—
Irony at its peak.
People cannot see the lies
Whenever she starts to speak.

The comedian is depressed.
Her smiles are not her own.
Day and night pass by and by,
Her house is not a home.

The comedian is depressed,
But the audience cannot tell.
In the end that's all that matters,
That, and if you perform well.

The comedian is depressed,
Head filled with gray and blue.
You cannot know the full extent
Until you acknowledge that it's true.

The comedian is depressed,
Each laugh is fleeting, at most.
Original thoughts inside her head
Tied her to a whipping post.

The comedians are depressed,
And more are going away.
How much longer till people think
To ask if we're okay?

He was the brightest star the world had ever seen,
but no star can burn bright forever, although that was unforeseen.
He was a man who brought joy to all those around him,
so that he never had to show them how his life was grim.
He made them laugh until their stomachs hurt,
even though inside he was full of despair, sadness and disconcert.
Like a clown, his smile was painted on,
only when he removed it did you see the wretchedness in his deep blue eyes; that’s when it dawned
that he was a slow dying flower,
fading petal by petal and losing power
until the day he’d been poisoned enough by this ghastly world,
and he died once and for all by his own hand – that’s when the truth of his life really unfurled.

they say the saddest
are the most happy

how a comedian can
stand up on stage to
make himself the world’s fool
because he had never
heard of a joke like love

our lady of perpetual sorrow
grabs the fool from everyone
a leach of life that chooses
to choose a happiness like you
extracts all it can
like nectar to a bee
but it’s almost relieving when
it had no where else to be

i have begun to believe
life isn't about all the
joys to feel and
things to see
it's not about you and
it's definitely not about me
the illusion is that
greatness is up and
failure is down when  
true progression doesn’t
care for dimensions

remember the comedian
who hates it all
who makes it funny
because he recalls
if i can’t be happy
everyone can