I'm scared I'm losing
my ability to believe
that anything will ever be
just what it says it is

so bring me a trickster
who hides their shame
out there on display
visible
and in plain sight
the way Pierrots have worn
a painted frown
as armour for
their weakened hearts

give me caricatures composed
of dirty secrets
before I lose my faith
because everyone has
some kind of sword
behind their back
wether they want to play
that way or not
and if I have to dance
then why not for the ones
who make the game
of swallowing the swords
and flames

not the posing
and the pretty face
filled all in with wax
give me stumbling scars
and confessional tattoos
like stories
and like gospels
embedded in the skin
because what's in the bone
will someday
out the flesh

and truths of grotesque
exaggeration
and the fattest ladies
of the shameless shames
are the only angels left
with the power
for the miracles
worth the breath
of prayer