climb down from the shelf
of the subconscious of my mind
an archetype Pierrot
remind me that to be this way
is to know
the difference between the neon
and the stars
and that scars are the consequence
of surrendering the placenta
of glasses tinted all in rose
to step into the truth
of this reality
and that joy is best achieved
in the authentic of really seeing
because anarchy of the heart
is the only cure
to put this nihilism
in its place
and that to wear the painted face
is only the disguise
to keep safe what is too much
to take so much
of this disjointed world
when the price we pay
for the art we make
is to fall through the existential plummet
of the propaganda fail
and the only hope
for love to be what love
is meant to be
is to bring the laughter
to the places
that have often made us cry
and innocence is not so rooted
in the luxury of ignorance after all
but gets it's chance to bloom
in illumination that's reached
in hunger for the truth
where clarity of reality
in the exfoliation of fantasy
is all a part
of how the alchemist
crafts the dream