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Estelline Jul 27
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.
Tess M Jun 4
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
rig Apr 30
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
Steve Sagovac Jan 31
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
Nikkie Jan 13
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’.
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