There was a time I fell down,
To rapturous applause,
In that moment I knew the duality of man,
The duplicity,
Those grinning folk that galvanised my leap,
Are the same who cackle at my slump,
It is not only myself,
I daresay many have fallen down,
Perhaps even pushed,
And felt the same bruises as I,
The mouths of the masses drip poison,
Words like tripwires,
But we aren’t hamstrung,
Are we?
So get up,
Get up,
As only you can,
And rend the tongue from their maws.
They call me a beast,
Better suited to the wilderness,
Out of sight and out of mind,
Poking fun at my snout and feral grimace,
And my growls of nonsense during dialogue,
Derisively patting me upon my bestial mane,
It’s true that I feel lesser,
I’m subhuman,
Flea-ridden,
I stumble across societal rules on all fours,
I’m a flawed simulacrum of a man,
Despoiled by minotaur horns and lizard eyes,
It’s not possible to tame a wild creature,
And my pelt isn’t worth mounting,
So leave me to my slavering and howling,
I’m hardly domesticated,
So why not run free?
I am a beast after all.
There is a weight upon my spine,
I don’t recognise it,
A small body holding twin instruments,
It feels primate in nature,
A simian struggle exists on my shoulders,
A quaint fez and maroon waistcoat,
The beats of its being ring true,
I recognise every clang,
They scream in my ears,
Every hateful fact I have embodied,
Each fault resounded in shrill tones,
Every tone of my inadequacy,
Nobody deserves this fate,
Not even this ghoul,
Profound cymbals against my temples,
Trowels glancing off block,
So in rage I hope you’ll endorse me,
F@#!?!K that monkey!
I am not a glamourous man,
Not a Prince Charming,
More of a Grendel or Hyde,
Something akin to a blobfish in a shirt,
A weirdo,
An eccentric enemy of the state,
But when I place that crown upon my head,
That mad hatter headpiece,
Victorian fashion supreme,
I don’t care anymore,
I know that I’m finally me,
I’ll be able to grin,
With it comes the face paint,
A clown taking shape under its rim,
Madness coalescing with joy,
With this ensemble I can recover from normality,
But I fear it’d all be for naught,
If not for my top hat.
I can’t keep that beeping out of my head,
That incessant crying,
The trilling of the heartbeat monitor,
Forced on when my heart was trod on,
Decibels striking my thoughts with scourges,
A result of things gone wrong,
That flatline,
Blades across eardrums,
But the bleeding has ceased,
Flesh is replaced with stone,
A warm soul is now calcified,
Heartache has given rise to blizzards,
I shed my person suit,
This is the demise of that former quintessence,
This war has made me cold,
Now it’s every man for himself,
Now let me embrace some chaos,
Now I embrace that beep.
Each morning brings an uneasiness,
A longing fear of peering into that mirror,
And seeing that misshapen carcass,
Like a portal to a world of monsters,
A bogeyman on CCTV,
I see myself,
But is that miscreation truly me?
This is no abstract,
But a very real abomination,
A brown haired accident,
Each glimpse at the mirror,
Is fingernails on chalk,
The portal remains open,
Blue eyes like the abyss scowl back,
A hide blemished and spotty,
That foul visage still watches from the glass,
The other me,
The me I wish I wasn’t,
And I avert my eyes,
Dreading the next time I see that mirror,
The reflection smirks.
WorldofHarley 