Laughing like the SunA Poem by Mr. MisanthropeIf you find it difficult to understand, you know you're on the right track. It's a nightmare come to life, after all. Excluding all the scientifically impossible bits, which is pretty much the whole poem. Lol!My soul, impure. My spirit, tainted. Myself, broken. Many faces, painted. A vast array of souls in the Empire Exhibition. All boasting colours of dead inhibition. And mine? Sorry, I'm colour-blind. I prefer not to slide down the rainbow of some retarded leprachaun With his pot of gold (Miser!) and his Irish Setter called Scorn.
Dancing skulls and grey smoke, Pink eyeballs and beauty unspoke, Tip-toeing from soul to soul. Banishing friends, And Death personified. He will make me suffer forever. My Yellow Jester.
Red and black and golden bells screaming An ode of ridicule to make me wake up in my dreams, Wearing nothing but boxers in a gaping-mouthed classroom. A cold shower in the Mo(u)rning of my Life.
He just stood there, Silently, Staring, A sardonically woven voo-doo doll with lidless eyes. Baring his teeth, Their yellow surface Blinding me with An absence of friends, With which I sow the soil of my barren Purgatory, my world.
Those teeth, Those teeth, Grinding and grinning at me With their own plastic faces.
'You are alone,' he tells me. 'And you always will be.'
And he laughed...
And laughed...
And laughed...
And all I did Was stand there, Taking it in, Absorbing the aura of torment into my hollow cocoon that I call a body. That Glasgow smile that haunts my dreams, Emanating from his soul, Like a Joker, with style, from Hell... or maybe Heaven? I don't know. I don't know who wants me anymore.
You know what? That laugh?
It kinda hurt....and it still does.
© 2008 Mr. MisanthropeAuthor's Note
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