The Jester Cries

Elegant, aren’t you?
With your half-lit smirk
And glowing veins.
Beautiful, dying,
In the half-lit night,
Just cry
My dear.

And your flaws watch you.
Ever plagued by ghost
And guilt, you are.
Wondering what
A half-lit life might hold
For such
As you.

Elegant, fallen,
Ghastly, ghostly! Cry,
My little saint.
You are the devil
In your every fear
And icy
Wraith.

Flames, licking souls.
Wrap your ribbon tongue
Around the gauze.
Lapping up sugar
Through the cracks and
Faded
Bandages.

Elegant, equal
To superiority
Itself.
Seeing in white
With your heaven dyed
Naivety.

Bleached, like your eyes.
Wandering far but
Finding only blood.
Stained and belittled
By the sun you fried
With grease
And hate.

Elegant love
Is a spindly carcass
Sucking dry
Stars in the mist,
Hanging over dreams
Too steep
To climb.

And I have seen
Every streak of mud
Across your face.
Fighting for things
You have kicked into
The dark
Of life.

Elegant, huh?
You can’t even bear
To touch the world.
Fearing, perhaps
What they’ll sense beneath
Your jagged
Breath.

You can’t be bothered
With such pointless,
Silly things, such as
Falling in love
With the fire inside
Your barren
Mind.

Elegant, are you?
Laughing as they bow
And beg like dogs.
Gods falling victim
To your charming
Promises
Of death.

Elegant, yes,
But I pity you,
My half-lit child.
Beautiful, dying,
You won’t ever be
The lie
She was.