And the old Clown demands a sad goodbye in a way you can't deny,
And it turns out your the one who feels bad because you were both young Clowns together.
But now your all grown up and your fear of being dragged into old nonsense is forcing you to say goodbye.
Again.
"Goodbye." not "See you later," because you might not.
And the old Clown emphasizes your departure and your mutual goodbyes because he's not afraid of dealing with the way things are now.
He knows he probably won't ever see you again,
And he's realized it's not his choice even if it is his fault.
So he has a smile on his face and looks you in they eye and says "Goodbye."
You respond with "talk to you later"
And you know why his silent response is so loud in your head only.
And it's because you feel bad.
Not because it's your fault but because you know that he knows you won't risk being a Clown again, at least not with him.
So he looks you in the eyes with warm, comforting, open eyes chilled by remorse.
You try not to look at them again because regardless of how warm they are,
And how comforting they want to be,
The chill in those eyes pierces your heart and makes you feel like bursting at the seams with why's and how's of why your not Clowns together anymore or ever again.
He sees your pain more then you know,
Even tho you don't notice he's looking at your feet when you look up again. Only to make you comfortable.
And he would choose to make you comfortable by averting his warm empathy cooled by years of tolerance rather then force his warmth on you and risk burning you,
But only because he knows he can't comfort you anymore.
So he averts his eyes and doesn't look back.
The old Clown hopes you noticed.
He hopes that you know why he acted the way he did.
But not because he wants you to feel as bad as you do,
But because he wants you to know he's not the same fragile clown he was.
He knows that he wants but does not need your help.
The funny thing is that you were the older clown,
He's not the same young Clown you knew,
And he's just changed the way he perceived his life, and done so without actually changing his environment. And he kinda thinks you did the opposite,
And he feels bad for not helping you.
Just like you feel bad for not helping him now.
But all he really wants at this moment,
Is for you to know he doesn't need help anymore
And he won't ask.
Not because he doesn't want to be your friend again,
But because he knows he only makes you uncomfortable now.

Look me in the eye when you wish to address all of these things we've chosen to press.
Square up to my face and say what you pray to side-step.
Promise, im impressed.
Don't avert my gaze,
Brace against this void and stand strong-lipped.
Don't disgrace your anger by giving it up too quick.
Simmer your objective into the right spit,
Launch it in my face as if I might quit. Tell me off,
Show me how,
I may be loud-mouthed but I can't live Without loving you now,
So show me how.

Don't test these waters,
I'm colder than poisoned ice cream. You may think I'm quiet or misunderstood,
But I'm just observant and there's nothing to miss,
You merely don't understand.
Standing by unnoticed, watching the clowns fool themselves into flaccid conversation and loud misinterpretation.
Sure I believe you,
But you don't believe in anything so why would I listen?
I may not be big,
but I'm heavier than you expect,
once you get me rolling,
no stick stone or concrete embankment can foil my momentum.
Be warned before you flip my lid that you can't flip it back.
It's a promise
a commitment to my affliction that I don't want you to forget.

Potent rage fumigating my body with a ****** sunset orange,
lapping flames at the feet of the audience anticipating a conclusion I can't see fit.
Fumes second-handed to those close and cornered,
feel the ugly crude oils of my livid pain boiling against your pricelessly soft smile.
Heat blistering your lips,
Dulling the love of your flawless frame.
I wish I could love you without melting you down like the last candle there will ever be to keep this old clown warm.

Sweet pink pixie stick of a voice,
laced with a slick oily awful sedative.
Seducing our divine imperfect and organic lives with a painfully unattainable sleek plastic appeal.
Sell me their ideals,
Buy into their thoughtless religion of never ending want with unrealized need.
And explain to me how we are better off.

Have you ever longed for a breath of life so much  it bites through your skin?
Ever looked into someone else's eyes and seen the recognition of your struggle?
I've searched long and hard for a friendly face and eyes that listen to exactly how my face contorts when I say: "please don't go"

I can never express the embarrassing guilt for my need for someone to listen.
It shames me beyond all recognition.
My self image finds itself helplessly trampled by self doubt and indecision,
drowning unconscious face down in a ***** puddle on the corner of an oily intersection in my mind.
Reserved for the worst in me. Sometimes that puddle is a warm comfortable pool of hate saved for the last drop of hope I have left.

I will cover myself in a thick skin of ice.
cold, brittle and uncaring.
Where I might hide unscathed by the churning waves of our battle for emotional high ground.
I would freeze myself looking forward, with the last look of determination I can muster.
Instead of staying free flowing, unshackled and unprotected: free to look back for you and see if you've followed my lead.
But I'm too afraid to see you turn your back on me and smile for someone else.
I'd rather cage myself in an angry form looking forward instead of back,
even though I know full well the way ahead offers neither condolences nor comfort for the fight I've just lost.
Lost not like a failed assault or a sidestepped attack,
Lost like a Boy Scout alone,
abandoned and stranded in the middle of the ocean
with nothing but a pocket knife
to keep him company.

I know I've lost my footing.
I'm falling so hard I can't tell how fast I'm going or when I first lost my grip.
Lead lungs weighing me down,
and a nice cold soul scratching at my skull for a way out of this crippling cage.
Falling for so long,
I can't imagine what the ground feels like.
Please give me strong legs to land on
or the wings to fly away.

Scars are a language branded on your skin.
Just like words, they can and will be misinterpreted,
misrepresented,
misleading and sometimes deceiving.
But a scar always says something.
Just like a word,
a statement,
accusation or declaration,
it never means nothing.
They don't disappear.
Not for the purpose of reminding you why and how it came to be,
but to propose what it says about you now.
Scars shape our lives,
But not because of what made them,
But because of what we have done since they have been there.
THAT translates the old language first carved and printed, into a verse sung by the voice deep in your head.
Mourning or rejoicing,
that voice is always louder than the ancient script stamped in flesh and signed in blood long washed away.

Clawing and scratching at the dirt his eyes could never see,
right in front of his face
he pushed the earth apart and squeezed his small body through this hole inch by inch.
Cold and damp the earth laughed at the energy he wasted.
Breath coming in gasps he screamed silently into the earth
through the ground,
no one would ever hear the voice of desperation scratching it's way in the earths surface.
like a bird trying to bust the shell of it's egg too dense to ever break open and let it's life out.
The more he dug the harder the earth became.
The grittier the clay and the more impossible it became to break through. No light would ever glimpse his eyes
No ear would ever hear his laugh
No hand would ever hold his.
Fingernails long broken off
Knuckles beyond bloodied,
his desperation turned to rage turned to depression turned to silence.
At last he knew he would die.
He lay in the ground and smiled as his eyes closed.
Fingers curled into loose fists.
His lightless eyes closed finally, and he accepted his death in the embrace of the earth.
Knowing even though no one ever knew him or loved him
At least he can lay to rest in the arms of the one who held him the closest.