Posts Tagged ‘Sorrow’

I once began to make no sense,
My mind squirmed blissfully,
Kaleidoscopic thoughts,
And nonsensical images,
Such insane joy,

Or perhaps misery,

They tried to send me to the funny farm,
Pearly gates and high walls,
They came for me,
The demons in white coats,
Doctorates of deception,

Or perhaps altruism,

They came for me,
The voices told them i’m sure,
With a straitjacket dress in hand,
Fashion for the mad,
A gown to suit my luster,

Or perhaps my folly,

So they gave me candy,
Of myriad shape and shade,
Confectionary for the brainpan,
Citalopram comfit,
Sertraline confection,

Sweets of depression,

They want me to be mundane,
A productive little cog,
Now i’m off to the funny farm,
Cackling all the way.

Crying all the way.

I linger for now,
I don’t spy much of a future,
I want to die,
I’d rather be a pleasant memory,
Than a nothing of a man,

Life sucks,
But it’s not all bad,
Bring me a bottle of amber,
And i’ll live life for a day,
Like a twisted mayfly,

Maybe I ought to take a jolly leap,
I’m not afraid of the abyss,
Simply the void i’d leave,
For friends and family,
Lovers and enemies,

I want to die,
But i’ll continue to persist,
For the others,
For those who care.

This facade I wear,
It’s the other me,
That alter-ego,
That character,
The Harlequin,

The top hat,
The long coat,
The mad cackling,
It’s not me,
It’s him,

Face-paint is all that separates us,
Remember the grin is painted on,
The laughter is false,
Costumes and masks,
It’s all a facade,
I’m just me,

A sad clown,
Impersonating a performer,
A showman,
I’m a misanthrope,
Playing at being a thespian,
An actor,

We are separate men,
Though we are one,
I’m no jester,
I’m not laughing,
I’m not smiling,
I’m not him,

I’m not alright.

The world often becomes too much,
Its weight burdening me relentlessly,
The trials wear me down,
Shark-toothed as they are,
And when those jaws close in,

I escape into video games,
Those safe places where anything is possible,
Make-believe worlds that never existed,
Their denizens fanciful and vivid,
Worlds that are perhaps better,

I can become a valiant hero,
A grizzled soldier,
A wizard,
Even a tyrant or villain,
Anything but myself,

The stress dissipates,
Like undressing,
Like dropping a veil,
A colossal weight departs,
The strain is naught but memory,

Perhaps it’s a drug,
While others have nicotine or the bottle,
The needle or the pill,
I have the gamepad,
But we all sin right?

We all have stresses don’t we?

A young boy was born,
Rosy-cheeked innocence,

A young boy was brought home,
By beaming suburban parents,

A young boy began to play,
Mud and toy soldiers,

A young boy became a student,
Shy and introverted,

A young boy was bullied,
Beaten to tears,

A young boy continued to play,
Dark rooms and razor blades,

A young boy cried for help,
No help came,

A young boy began to crack,
His innocence beginning to fade,

A decision was made,

A young boy became an active shooter,
Clad in trenchcoat,

No more tears,

A young boy was shot dead,
By a good guy with a gun,

He was just a young boy.

Through this glass,
Is it a window?
I see you,

Your countenance is clear as day,
Perhaps you see me too,
Trying to signal you,

Something keeps us apart,
A vacuum of memories,
And past actions,

This crystalline field between us,
A killing ground of intentions,
A reflective barrier,

Its surface is chilling to the touch,
It’s made up of our pasts,
Times we had gone by,

And fear of shattering it,
Terror of reigniting the flame,
And the pain,

We dare not fracture it,
So we longingly glance,
Across this glass mile.

A friend once told me,
I may be eccentric,
A conflux of wasted potential,
A lunatic,
I’ll never get far this way,

I beg to differ,
I simply walk a wildly different path,
While your path holds domestic bliss and career goals,
Mine holds glamorous noise and dancing clowns,
A cane in my hand and a top hat atop,

You live your grey life,
Chastise me if you will,
I’ll still be jaunting,
I’ll still be grinning,
The crisp earth will welcome us both all the same.

Hello there fellow inmates!

You don’t need to adjust your monitors, your eyes are not deceiving you! It is, in truth, an actual new post from your friendly resident Harlequin. The asylum is not yet dead! I’ve been away from the blogosphere for some time. The reasons for this are myriad, i’m afraid. I’ve neglected my writing, my artwork, the lot. It’s a real shame, if i’m honest.

I’m not going to go into any details about what’s been going. Suffice to say, i’ve not been very well. I’ve been struggling with mental illness, and i feel that is all that needs to be said. We all have endured something similar or know someone who has. I’ve finally started to dig myself out of that hole and getting back to what makes me; me. It’s been a fairly long road, and there is much distance still to be covered. But frankly, i needed something to focus on. The asylum here at WorldofHarley was always supposed to be an escape, a sanctum. A place where i can simply be myself.

After some pushing from friends, it seemed logical to return to that sanctum. WorldofHarley is the best thing for me right now. Something to focus on. To try and return to some kind of routine. Self-therapy, if you like. So here we are!

This is something of an update. The Harlequin and the asylum are back. If anyone remembers me, then thank you so much for your patience. Haha! I’m going to try and be as regular as possible. I’m not quite sure what more to say other than…

Have a very crazy day inmates!

There’s trouble ahead,
There’s hellfire on the horizon,
The drumbeat continues,
Humanity marches unabated,
Craters and mushroom clouds ahead,

Out of tune,
Ragged drums and dilapidated regalia,
Painted-on smiles,
Out of step,
Unwashed humanity parading ever onward,

Cracked lips and grazed knees,
The drumbeat continues,
Complaining of weary eyes,
Insanity personified,
Driven on regardless by the beat of life,

The state of this world,
The state of this procession,
Mired in misery and dissention,
Enough for a thousand dirges,
There’s trouble ahead,

The drumbeat continues.

This is the suburbs,
Residential utopia,

Gardens disheveled and unkempt,

Children with blank faces,

Creaky marred front gates,

A young lady who hears all manner of sordid gossip,

A shed kept from prying eyes,

A policeman with lewd secrets of his own,

A community full of cliques,

A weary young man who keeps his basement locked,

A husband and wife who never look at one another,

A girlfriend head-to-toe in Stella Artois contusions,

A widow still in a black veil,

A crowded yellow school-bus never to get home,

Some utopia,
When perused closer,
Even the suburbs aren’t so idyllic.