the sluice of hot water
courses down my failing form
a murky pool of gray
from the pancake make-up
rendering a tired clown
back into the invisible man
only beaded droplets
expose my nudeness to
an otherwise indifferent
chilled oblivion i call home

time to lay in the darkness
haunted and empty
an abandoned house filled
with a dessication of will
grown too comfortable only
to have another foreclosure
on cotton candy delusions

there is a comforting
sort of familiarity
in the smiles i know hide
the sharpest of fangs
the one which terrorize
my attempts at dreaming
which serves to highlight how
easily a fool can be discarded