Suicidal Clown


This fake smile is bone structure

Painted on to mask my frown

You don't see fear nor pain or sin,

I'm a suicidal clown.

Blood seeped through my long sleeve as I prepared my noose of

belts and sheets. I'm

worn away from the defeat of wars that waged inside my head.

Emotions different shades of red,

parasites in my soul

eating away at my dreams and goals. The

sands of my times slipping through my fingers, but

among that darkness seemed to linger hope;

a light.

Giving me the strength to fight

these demons that haunt me day after day and night.

To those whose pain is same:

You aren't insane nor alone

30,000 souls are lost to this game a year

for fear of being on their own.

We are not weak because we refuse to speak of

reasons why our arms are carved,

the secrets of our scars.

Most of us are victims of disease

causing us to lost the keys to our

reasons to be.

My message to the rest of folks is

share your jokes and joy with those smile upside down,

those who just can't carry on

these suicidal clowns.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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