Circus Life: NaPoWriMo 2

Circus Life #napowrimo Day 2

I lived at the circus as a little girl.
It was a circus of horrors.
In the fun house mirrors I saw others.
Never me.
Dark faces with reddened eyes,
Scowls and pinched angry faces.
Smiles widened into a grimace that held laughter, loud and cruel.

I looked in the fun house mirror but it was never me.
Me, I could only see out of the corner of my eye, 
in the lowest corner of the glass.
Small and scared but determined, was that face.
She did not appear often but she was hope.
Hope for the one day when those fun house mirrors would shatter
into a million silver shards.

The circus clown lived inside the fun house mirrors.
It drifted from dimension to dimension effortlessly.
It floated on fluid strands of gossamer evil,
unbreakable bonds that never tired.
Lashes of the dark tongue burnt grooves into my soul.
Lashes of the leather belt burnt welts into my wet skin.
My truths were considered lies with punishment swift and never missed.
Magical thinking kept insanity alive.

Oh, the fun we had on the circus rides.
The Ferris wheel twirled with speeds that made all a blur.
Whack-a-mole resulted in black and blue body puzzle pieces.
We ate cotton candy dreams and glass laced burgers.
Prizes were broken with precious memories shattered.  
Sleep was fleeting.  
The clown haunted us at night.

I lived at the circus as a little girl but I still hear the music now.
Tinny chords from the organ grinder come back to me in dreams.
Broken cries mixed with the sudden image of the fun house clown 
flash before my closed eyes.
In the bright sunlight none of those thing exist and I see only me in my mirrors. 
I don't look at the lowest corner of the mirror,
out of the corner of my eye.
I did that once and saw the face of the fun house clown.
It's waiting for that one chance to come back.
To come back into this world wielding a cloak of evil.

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The Wind Down

It has been a day. Tiring. Boring. Exhausting.
Familiar ailments increased my malaise.
Good intentions went unfulfilled.
They will wait for another day.

Jangled and jargled is my only nerve.
I need the sea and the call of the timeless waves.
I need to breathe deep the salt of the sea and dive.
Dive into the salty depths of the hypnotic drone of crashing.

It has been a day. Tiring. Boring. Exhausting.
Only a poor substitute do I have.
It will do…given my clipped wings.

Swirling, deep caramel aromas fill the air.
Down the roan liquid goes, warm and sweet.
Wait.
Wait.
There it is.
An easing, a dulling, a blurred edge.

Tomorrow is a new day with a new nerve.
Tomorrow is a new day with new intentions.
Tomorrow.

Now finally, I feel the call of sleep.
I listen to my waves of the sea,
artificially infused into the air by my ipod.

It will do.
I need the sea.
I brought it to me.

I lay visualizing the roaring water,
foaming and glinting from the sun.
It has been a day.
Tiring. Boring. Exhausting.
Hope for a new tomorrow has begun.