Masquerade

Must it end this way?
A sea of hopelessness,
Aroused by aa storm of self pity,
They all laugh,
The same laugh as always,
Wheezing in a fit of ectasy;
Yet I had always deduced abjectness,
Concealing their inner demons.

They'd mask it of course,
Their smiles and merriment being lies,
Deceit acting as a guard for something that cannot be guarded,
Something unspeakable and denied;
Yet it is prominent,
Contrary to their one atom of sanity.

Grab your partners for a dance!
They would oblige,
As each of their movements are fables,
For which they do not find the moral,
They instead smile at being contemtible,
Their worth underweighs their desires,
Being shrines of accursed duiebty.

The masque is over.
Sadly, their masks continue,
Each step forward is two back,
Hatin their bogus gaiety;
An insult to their crumbling psyches,
Caught in a devilish reverie,
That haunts them evermore.

Trapeze

Smiling is officially a charade;
Hiding some profound subliminal sadness,
The root of it cannot be cured,
Or even found,
Yet they perform each night,
The audience celebrate their frivloity,
Mocking them;
Reducing the performers' hearts to liquid,
Devoid of sympathy or emotion.

Then they have a glint in their painted eyes,
One of self pity; the very essence of their inadequacy,
Immortalised in their illustrious faces,
Merciful and merciless, they perform once more,
Winning an applause,
Of both joy and sorrow,
As the clowns perpetually perform each night,
For the same present: a packet of peanuts and a sparse appreciation,
Then it is back to the circus of humiliation forever more.