The Jester
The Jester puts on her smile,
Plastered to her make-up smeared face.
Bright lights blind her empty eyes.
She can see no one in the crowd.
Inside her mind,
She screams for release.
Twisting the head off her doll,
Blood runs down her cheeks.
Her hands gripped tightly around the neck of the doll,
She pulls as hard as she can.
No one’s around for miles;
They left her to die.
Smiles and laughs surround her,
Taunting her every move.
They tease and mock her,
Pointing out flaws.
How her hair sticks out;
How her tooth has a chip in it.
Her eyes go dark as she wishes them death.
Under her breath she curses.
They will never lead happy lives.
They will know what it’s like being a puppet.
Just a toy in a closet,
Thrown around like nothing.
She wants to rip them all apart,
Limb by limb till there’s nothing left.
In her mind she makes up stories.
Stories where she’s no longer the jester,
No longer do they laugh at her.
With bloodshot eyes,
She cranes her neck to the sky.
Her screams echo through the stadium,
Reverberating off the walls,
Bouncing back to her ears,
Killing everything in its path.
She falls to the ground in a puff of dirt.
When it clears,
The Jester is nowhere to be found.
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