Lay with me.
Lay with me and laugh.
Lay with me and cry.
Lay with me and wonder why.
The simple pleasures dwindle down.
A painted smile for a clown.
All that he can do is smile.
Making all those silly balloons,
For no smiles, no happiness.
Stalked by scars, and nothing more.
Hang his bowtie on the door.
A box of twenty finds his hand,
A symbol of death.
Still his grip never falters.
A tear breaks free and cuts his smile.
Alone again, the thoughts will come,
Never trying, nothing done.
Pray for rain, to cleanse his tears.
Smoke fills his lungs to drown his fears.
Climb the stairs and rest your head,
Stronger now, the bowtie calls.
Only that can break my fall.
The irony of poison.
Knowing it's there makes it worse,
Speeds it's murder,
Spreads the fear.
He jumps for joy, and waits for SNAP!
Rope and bowtie hold him close.
Look up, look down,
Floating now, above the hurt.
Below the world.
Waiting for the grey to take him.
Not long now, and soon he hangs.
Cradled by the dark.
Truly alone at last.
Look upon this sight and weep,
A hanging clown.
A smile still painted,
On a tortured face.
Do you still think his smile is real?
YOU ARE READING
Behind closed doors
ŞiirSimply the thought of release made me think of the first two lines of the first poem, and then it kinda went on from there. Actions are powerful, but words are just as powerful if not stronger. Every day is worse than the last. I have very little f...
