I know that the true demons
Roar inside It’s a perfect place to abide Out of sight And out of mind Until they start to shine Because when I took a fall I had to crawl Till I found a way I was lost and forgotten A mess of sorts When I had healed Then all heads reeled Only then did they care But I needed them When I was down But that’s when they just stared And made me feel like a clown.
all around me are couples,
walk around, frightened and clinging to each other clowns jumping out, chain saws screeching on paralyzed in fear crying in extreme anger everything in me screams to have control yet I keep failing
i name any
enemy o’ mine anaemia. an ammonia man o’ money? oh no, on many a nome. “okay, okay, don’t hurt yourself.”
credit to the last line goes to Andrew Stanton, Bob Peterson, and David Reynolds
Friends come and go
I wish you didn't have to go Friends change Friend's betray Friends lie to your face Telling you that they're OK A friend can laugh the loudest A friend can be the group clown You can find that same friend hanging from a rope Shattering everything that you thought you know Some friends are tenacious Determined to give up When you left you tore us up
i was forced to say goodbye to the clown
You hold your scepter and make cruel jokes
You're nothing but a jester in a poor man's crown With every badly executed slight your bells jingle causing attention drawn to you In attempt to bring others down, you just became a one-man show
The horses and dancers, the acrobats too.
The ringmaster and all the beasts in the zoo. At the end of the show, received huge adulation. With thunderous cheers and a standing ovation. But the funny men with baggy pants and large shoes Got a different reaction, thrown fruit and loud boo’s. Well their smiles turned to rage and confused irritation As they stood there and suffered the crowds indignation. They ripped off their noses and popped their balloons, No more will with they play for these mindless buffoons. So they piled into their car and it’s needless to say, As they drove off, the clowns were quite angry that day
You can be anything you want to be; a clown, a lover, a serial killer, a tarot card reader, a musician who likes to eat pickles. You can be a prized fighter who falls in love with love itself. When you read you can be anything, and I do mean anything. But when you write.....you can see what's happening in front of you, you can be the night sky, in the twinkling eye of the child when she is being read your bedtime story. Put yourself in my place, when I am writing I close my eyes and the story that wants to come out is vividly clear in front of me. It's amazing what words can do when the right ones are put together: time stood still when you looked at me. I felt what you didn't say, I felt what you were gonna say. You smell so good, I can't wait for you to.....You know....It's all good, I know you feel it too, if this is just my imagination, I need to stop drinking so much coffee, the caffeine is starting to get to me.
On tabletops and in bathroom stalls, his audience he does
astound A dazzling show for one and all, his talents know no bound. They call him Pierrot He himself he does not know. Toss him your rotted fruit; he graciously will eat Sickness but paltry price; to grovel at your feet. They call him Pierrot He himself wish it were not so. For your gold and silver, earnestly not he plead To bathe solely in your veneration, gladly he’d bleed. They call him Pierrot He himself pulled undertow. A shield of alabaster betrays a scarlet face A gleaming retort to innermost dis- grace. They call him Pierrot He himself no arrow nor bow. His grossest corruption, that which he does imbibe For one more day, to lucifer, he offers a bribe. They call him Pierrot He himself fodder for the crow. In the Abby his copper chalice he does fill Desperate panhandler imploring of you good will. They call him Pierrot He himself unrisen dough. Oh to drink and guzzle your sympathy, such chance For taste of your tepid affection, evermore he’ll dance. They call him Pierrot He himself a blemish in snow. But when the poison seeps from his head And those of conscience sleep soundly in bed He will look upon the mirror with bated breath And to the man he recognises not wish for death The call him Pierrot He himself pleads you: ‘Don’t go’.