"Why did you do it." Her gaze lingered and danced over her unsatisfying reflection. "What did I do wrong." She glared at the excess contour in her physical features, the brittle texture of her hair, and the dispassionate aura in her stale eyes. "Why did it have to be me." A faint glow overcame the dullness in her eyes as her mind began to draw her towards a small rectangular can. "Will this make anything better?" She grasped the can with her scrawny, neglected fingers and staggered towards her unmade bed to draw a plain, lousy circle with the fluid inside the can. "I take it all back." Before climbing into the circle, she wrote a small message on her tattered burgundy rug and lit it with quivering hands. "I wish I had the dignity to apologize." She took an old scarf and wrapped it around her mouth, holding in any future regrets. 'But there really is no reason.' She thought. Her frail limbs carried her towards the bed and she climbed onto it with the utmost care, as if she were hoping not to break it. 'I guess we could blame it on a lot of things, or we could just admit that we were never meant to be; but I've never stopped loving you.' She watched as the area around her began to swallow itself whole, and for a moment there she understood the true meaning of beauty. Her body convulsed and her heart and soul had melted like wax, but she found pleasure in every moment of it. She made no move to scream or fight her inevitable fate, but she was careful not to wreck this incessantly lustful feeling; she was careful not to wreck herself with it.

I called this collection as such cos of the fear and possibly hatred I have for clowns. Ever since I can remember, this is the one fear thats been constant. When I write I tend to use the word "clown(s)" to represent any bad feelings I have. Feelings that put me in a depressed state. I use the name "Deadclown" as a way to deal with my mind when I go through periods of being sad, angry, frustrated and so on as this, in my ideal world would be how I would like these clowns to be - Below is a brief description of my poems * Free Me of My Untruths & I Might Just Die -are about inner conversations I have with myself at times, as I'm sure a lot of people do. I don't know * Lonely Journey - for Kurt Cobain who's been a huge influence in my life * Fractured Solace - about suicidal thoughts which is why I wrote the poem in the shape of a ribbon to honour the ribbon for "Suicide Awareness" * Shadows Steal My Breath - how I imagined Heathcliff to be feeling after the death of Cathy. Written as though I were Heathcliff in an ABC style * The Night I Welcomed Death - originally meant to be a song I was writing but instead altered some of the words, removed the chorus and changed it into a poem * Inside Rape - not about a sexual rape, it's about the way I tend to not give my positive thoughts any room to develop. I always tend to soil them with negativity * The Key (part 1) Death of The Keyholder - originally meant to be a story I was working on (like a Tolkien style Lord of The Rings kind of thing) but it turned into this poem. * Forever My Darkness - There's a lot of letters in this and when I see a lot of letters or a lot of anything I guess, I tend to think of them as people crowding me and making me feel uncomfortable like I don't belong. This is why I chose to seperate the words "This is me" from all the other words. I don't mind being an outsider. Thats just how it is * 9 Titles and Still 1 State of Mind - Using the other 9 poem titles

Warnings: -Death -Blood -Descriptive Scenes -Almost Rape -Sexual Contact -Sex -Robbery -Violence -Strong Language (dirty words, cussing, etc.) -Alcohol -Drugs -Suicide Attempts -Depression Pairings: -Rayrard -Frerard By the way, I do not side with the criminal! I understand that I made the words a little strong. I'm changing that immediately I do not own any of the characters and the story is fictional. I own everything apart from the characters: Gerard Way, Ray Toro, Mikey Way, and Frank Iero. Enjoy <3

I'm sorry if this story is bothering you. But if it is, it's clearly not meant for you. "What's depression like?" A friend once asked. I didn't know what to say. Because when people ask you things like "What's wrong" and "How are you?" and "Can I help you?" I never know what to say. I end up lying. I end up answering "nothing" and "Fine" and "No". Though what I really want to answer is "Everything" and "I'm not okay" and "Yes, please". What depression is like? Writing what it's like is easier than telling what it's like. Only a few will totally understand what it's like. And for those people I wrote this.

The utter most inner thoughts and feelings of one who has but no other way to express them and therefore without a pen a paper she very much may spontaneously combust in an explosion of secrets bottled up for far far too long. : )