My Love, You're Gonna Burn

I guess this is what you get when you're the head of the freak black circus.

Knuckles marred by aching, frightful scars,
the pain knows now where we all are,
that I exist, that I am,
that your life is not a complete and utter sham.

Going up and never coming back down,
causing pain and turning smiles up into frowns,
I am what I is, and I is what I am. 
If you can't accept, I don't give a damn.

Mr. Death informs me that I live;
I am sorry, there is nothing more to give.
Though he is here, I wish for Death,
too weak to confront my final breath.

Dying is a simple but sweet escape from the draw of the Fates.
The lecherous truth lives with love-filled lies
and I give my dying heart out for one sole reason:
to make up for all your crops who died this television season.

I'm sure bleach flows through my veins,
because blood and horror leave a stubborn stain.
They leave stains on time itself, know what I mean?
Ha-ha, know what I mean, Jelly Bean?

You can cut apart my legs, slash open my chest, tear away my arm.
Bury the blessed blood and boiling bleach; it will do no harm.
Use my essence to wash out the stain on your time;
with my permission, it is not a crime.

I am everything, yet nothing close to a simple death-fated man.
My heart out of my chest, it catches a tan.
Some things I can do; all things I can't.
"Why say 'can't'?" I say what I say because I can't.

You'll never know it's as simple as that,
because everyone knows it's a simple fact.
Upon my finger lives a jagged, symmetrical scar;
laugh and laugh, yes, hardy-har-har.

Little boys and little girls, be careful what you do,
for a god of death is watching your every ill-thought move.
You'll never know lust plus anger equals fun,
because you can't think fast when something wicked this way comes.

Author's Note

This is a twisted, love-confessing poem written by the ringmaster of the Black Ball, Robert Gray. In truth, this poem isn't written by him, but by the other half of his fractured personality. He, Robert, is one of my favorite narrators to write.

Reviews

[henrie s]

the last 4 lines of this poem just slayed me. it was such an eery but passionate vibe and i completely dig it because that mix of emotions lingers long after the initial reading. on paper it reads wonderfully, and i would love to hear it spoken live.

[V]

Fantastic.
"You can cut apart my legs, slash open my chest, tear away my arm.
Bury the blessed blood and boiling bleach; it will do no harm."
My favorite line. I love your descriptive details and word choice:3

[Remember Courage]

This is such a sad poem. I love how there is a rhyme that makes it seem that all the anger and passion in this is somewhat controlled. The details and visual is very good and I enjoyed reading the gruesome description of the knuckles. "Knuckles marred by aching, frightful scars" That was excellent. The best part of this poem I believe is the line, "Dying is a simple but sweet escape from the draw of the Fates" This was a really good write and the narration was like story telling i loved it.
-Courage