He tilted his head, and smiled a flashing smile
But to my disgust it dripped with red.
I tripped back, stumbling, my chest going tight
With fear, with revulsion, with dread.
He reached into his pocket,
I knew not for a toy
What clown owned a knife,
Made to kill little boys?
I stepped back further, and the room noticeably dimmed.
The light and degrees went down, and he grinned.
"I like the heart the most," he chuckled.
"The way it continues to beat."
"Or the fingers and toes that wriggle,
"on their tiny hands and feet!"
I grimaced in horror,
When I got his gist.
I would be eaten, of course.
Not on my Favourite's List:
This is not how I wanted my death to go down,
Cause who on earth would want to be eaten
by
a
clown?
