A mask of survival

When the mornings grow cold, the eyes of dawn shut. Morning doves stop their tunes.

I'm alone in a cold room, within the nightmare that haunts my existence, memories of the ones that done me wrong, destroying the child that once thrived.

My eyes are cold staring, into an abyss my mind hurts the silence yells. My cries absent. As I survive a life that has wronged me to the dime. My body is a difference to when he touched it, the thought of love drained dry, as my heart pounds heavy.

Everytime the day awakes I awake alone and cold trying to survive the day once more counting my ideas and crossing them off.

I the clown shall live onward. But how long will it last before the crash?

-clown 04/30/26