The Clown

The garish pasty visage of a corpse;
Greasepaint smelling more like formaldehyde;
Red hair reminiscent of Banquo's gory locks,
Lipstick that's been smeared on too thickly,
As though applied by a drunken mortician.

Clothes that don't fit.

Is it any wonder that we recoil in horror
When a clown in its oversized shoes
Fixes its hideous gaze upon us,
Then clumps its exaggerated gait toward us;
Grotesque goosesteps of malice,
Hands outstretched like a zombie
In search of brains to devour.

It's a visage that is meant to entertain us,
Yet it's the face of death that we recoil from,
The unnatural rouge of funeral cosmetics
In a carnival setting.

As the horrible harlequin lumbers toward me
I laugh, feigning the mirth that's expected,
But I have all I can do to restrain my impulse to

RUN!

I've Got the Monday Morning, I Hate My Fucking Job, I Hate My Life, & I Hate the Whole God Damned World and Everyone in it Blues

(A villanelle)

Mankind may all depart to hell,
That evil, proud, rapacious race.
May I live to hear its funeral knell.

To hear the tolling of that bell
Would bring a smile to my glum face.
Mankind may all depart to hell.

I want to be the one to tell
Of mankind's final fall from grace.
May I live to hear its funeral knell.

May they all end up where demons dwell,
With no one there to plead their case.
Mankind may all depart to hell.

It would suit me so very well
To see it gone without a trace.
May I live to hear its funeral knell.

Only their demise my rage will quell,
That mistake of God's, the earth's disgrace.
Mankind may all depart to hell.
May I live to hear its funeral knell.