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dbmathis
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Screaming the pain of your sad eyes and too-wide smiles, my twisted faces. Dance, dance and ignore it all, my happy clown. Twinkle, twinkle, little marshmallow stars, so delicate and pink. Did the screaming faces come from you, happy clown? I wonder each time the white milk spreads all over the faces without heads, swelling their ranks to the rim of the bowl. And what of the...things? Are they animals you're juggling, or are they shapes bloated with vengeance, looking down at your hands splayed from the weight of collecting the ghosts of people who haven't died yet?
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