The Drowning of a Clown

The clouds are crying
like clowns on gas station walls;
their tears wane a melancholy tune
on my window pane,
and my heart drains each time
the pitter-patter ceases
to shatter the tearcycles
hanging just below
the windows to my soul.

The gas station windows are frosty
from drafts of heat slithering
through its heart,
icy rain on its panes.

I�m ready to go outside again,
to face the rain.

I�m ready to shatter the icy daggers
clouding the windows of my soul.

I�m ready to drown
while teary-eyed clowns frown
and the melancholy tune wanes on.

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