The passing of Pennywise

A practiced and oiled lie slips,

Without resistance,

Transforming the air through contamination,

Into a veil to serve my obscurity.

With a twist of fate

And a curl of the lips

My visage presents as pristine,

Wiped clean,

Breaking me free from that fucking gaze,

Holding me in place.


But free men are doomed,

They say,

To make something of themselves,

Usually a mistake.

I could settle for a lie,

Oiled and practiced,

If I could only borrow your eyes,

(Now that it suits me),

To see how that smile keeps slipping,

Through my fading hands.


If you find your eyes searching,

For some answers  in my lips,

Ask for me with my brother,

That ever done-up clown,

Sing-shouting on the swings,

A drunken lullaby:

You can’t drink pain away,

But empty bottles make good storage,

So choke down the day,

And tonight you’ll drown in courage.

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