I saw a depressed clown haggling
at the flea market for balloons—

Joy marked down to a clearance price;
he holds onto second-hand laughter,
and a fragile piece of air tied to rubber skin.

By each nightfall he flees, on a rusted
scooter cutting through town, and his
balloons trailing like tired moons.

The crowd never cheered him on —
as he carried the silence anyway with him

The child looks like a clown because of what you did…

The child’s not scared of clowns now, they’re not scared of anything…

Soot on their face and blood on their lips…
They’re broken inside, yet we are the sick…

joking all day to make them laugh, to make them happy
laughing at everything, just to be seen
humoring them, to keep them entertained
being full of energy, even when you're drained
being the silly one, even when you're drowning inside
and if the tears remove the makeup,
you must put on another costume, a new one
to make them feel the same happiness
just like a clown, but without a paycheck

Funny how in love you can be
Just for no one to laugh

Under my eyelids,
small and large, hidden feelings.
They are pinching, twisting,
healing me.

But when I open my eyes,
everything begins anew.
The train cuts through reality
flowing in a big hurry.
This is my private driving force.

The nod of ironic thoughts
bursts inside implicit words.
Welcome my smile-finally
you have appeared!
My missed special guest.

Now, everything is fine.
I only enjoy a comic mood.
It was too serious and heavy
So, I switch off my mode:
Complicating Even Simple
I choose to jump in a rumpled glory
between spicy, witty meanings.

From the beginning
I have defended you from the very start
but you turned me into a clown at the end

Because of you
my shield turned into sinking balloons
the helmet that I wear melted like paint
and clown makeup is smeared on my face
my chivalry armor collapses to the ground
and a big colorful jumpsuit raps around my body from my neck to feet
the big metallic boots that I once wore
morphed into a big bright rubber shoes that squeak so loudly when I walk
and a big bow tie ways down my neck
leaving me in a hunchback posture

I couldn’t believe what I had became and it is all because of the sick twisted lies that you made me believe in

On the Jester's neck was a blade
What will he do? Run and evade?
No, he made fun of its size:
This one wouldn't cut me into dice—
A funny way to the gates of paradise,
Yet a brilliant way to make one never fade.