Abused, alone, adopted
He never stood a chance
In a burning world dismantled by gunfire
A world that drove him to insanity
HAHAHA
His life is a delusional reality
Pop the pills; one, two, three, four...
Do they really help though?
Why search for reality when the real world is a poorly told joke?
HAHAHA
He stares into a mirror
Face paler than a full moon in the dead of night
He puts on a smile, not a real smile
But a smile smeared red with death
HAHAHA
His appearance once made people laugh
Twisted venom-green hair
Painted blue eyes, dripping down his face
The exaggerated round, red nose
HAHAHA
Kill one person and the funny demeanor will die quick
Shoot another, because it felt good to watch the light drain from their eyes
Show the world that you are not invisible
His face causes riots in the streets of Gotham
Who's laughing now?
Too bad the people hadn't listened
He cried out through fits of unintentional laughter
Bullied and overlooked because of a mental illness
His life was a comedy, so why not play the part?
"Call me, Joker",
HAH *POP POP POP*
About the Creator
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The Blacksmith's Sonnet
Creeping through the crevices one-by-one The light of dusk won’t be stopped by aged wood Seeping into her eyes, woke by the sun She shudders, shaken by dreams of childhood. To work she is put, for Father taught well Lighting coals, preparing the flames to lick The iron ore glows, casts shadows of hell Gripped with her tongs, she grabs the iron quick. Over and over tap the metal beat His voice rings her ears she quickens her pace Sweat drips off her brow, sizzling on the heat Sight blurs, coals shift to eyes blazed on his face. She forges the shield, pond ’ring the days When Father forged her, in parallel ways.
By Emily Bredahl4 years ago in Poets
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