I might be okay,
but I’m not fine at all.
All these shadows are singing across all my walls
and the shatter and boom of the stereo loud
my hands are shaking building a ground.
Lost in the woods this funny sweet clown
she’s manic and driven to hell she is bound.
And the words just keep slipping and teasing her tongue
Oh! the no’s that committed her don’t know they did wrong
and the light is just slipping like glass from her hands
that cup of spilled milk is now coloring sand
and the moment she twist under bed sheets a plenty
her eyes are betwixt her bodies just empty.
Oh! Lord do you renounce the faith of the plenty
where room lights bedazzle and guard towers shower
on down like the rain drops of candy clean skies?
With a whisper this jester she falls and she dies
hidden in a room filled with puzzle and art
purple blue curtains she’s alive in her ark
savior’s always dancing and laughing like demons
outside they are shadows covering the cretins.
Oh! mazes of coffee and strippers galore
the world has turned laughter into its dirty whore.
Oh! spinster’s on fire on wheels of desire
laughing like maniacs
dowse them with fire.
But alright I’ll go to the slaughter
Like cattle with prods I no longer falter
Because this clown dies and I reemerge
a psych-o-clown jester with bitter for words.
(June 21 2013)