Gloom rolled into town like a caravan circus vintage and ragged rusty and golden the metal tent reflected a land before time maybe from the old movies when the elephants wore hats still, and the women danced long legged, **** and sweating as their toes kicked up leaving little to mystery. The gloom has its trapeze highs and itβs netted lows, a feeling of falling through time, through space, being caught right before the big SPLAT. The net between the gloom and the bright lights catches me like a spiders web, totally and completely but not enough to feel less lonely. There is a tight rope of thought instead of a train, in my brain, i am constantly balancing, a crowd of roaring people, spitting people, animals howling in the gloom at me, laughing at me throwing peanuts at me as i try to balance on the rope.
i really wanna go to the circus but not this circus this is a depression circus not a fun circus