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I remember I would always steal the joker out of a stack of cards. I always felt sorry for him, he wore so many masks, that he forgot who he was. He played a nice act day after day, but in the end…he was the one being fooled.
I felt like him, and since I refused to be sorry for myself, I used the joker for my sympathy…
When I smile…I would forget…was I smiling for myself, or for the audience. When I cried…I forgot, even when I was confused…I forgot, am I doing this for myself, or am I playing the fool?
I live as though I have my identical copy printed next to me on the joker card. And although I can’t say or do anything that the copy version of me won’t…I’m begging for someone to tell me apart. For someone to pick the right one…and save me.
But sometimes I wonder…if I can’t tell which ones real…how will anyone else?
Did I put to much confidence in humans? Will I be saved…?

I’ve lost my sanity…

My heart jumps at a certain sound. If you wear a clock on your wrist and hold it close enough for me to hear it tick, I shiver. I can hear time passing…my time. It’s dying…every second I am dying…even if my body continues to live…it has been my childhood fear that I will soon become empty.
When I was younger I knew the consequence of playing the fool…the fools soul falls into darkness and dies, yet his body continues to play his act…he becomes a puppet on a string.
Long ago…I told myself I can let myself become that way…that I was stronger than the fool…that I wouldn’t lose myself to darkness…someone would save me…..but at my back I always hear time’s winged chariot hurrying near…
When I hear the clock tick, I want to run…I know it’s following me. The fool’s fate is coming. I’ve had nightmares…no one could see through my masks…and the fools chariot caught up with me. The wind rushed against my back, and I was bound by chains…my strings. My soul walked into the chariot, and I watched myself as I left. I wore a white mask with a grin painted on it. And I screamed….i had become the fool.

I’ve tried to stop myself…when I think…I think for myself. When I sing…I sing for myself. When I mess up and do embarrassing things, I do them for myself….I haven’t lost everything yet… I just need one person to see it…see something of me I haven’t.

I had a dream that someone cried for me…it made me so happy. Because someone did something…not for themselves…but for me. They cried because I couldn’t. They weren’t looking at my act, but watching the overall show. That one person…listened to what I was trying to show them…and they cried for me...