THE TAINT BENEATH THE PAINT

Yes, scary clowns.

One poem each

I want sick, twisted and demented

Here is a little taste of what I want to see

TAINT BENEATH THE PAINT

Face down in the ground at the edge of town
Lays a clown with a frown in his burial shroud
All the laughter
Taken away
Left with only
Tears

Defaced and disgraced
I can taste
The blood mingled with tears
Unjust and undone
I will shun
A world full of fears

The little children
And their lies
LIES! LIES! LIES!
The angry parents
And their cries
DIE! DIE! DIE!

But no bodies will be found
Their bones are not in the ground
This little clown likes fun
After they’re dead in the sun
Snap the limbs when they go stiff
Hear the giggles when skin goes rip
They like a red nose and too big shoes
They stick to me like I’m made of glue

“Clowns are funny, little one
Come with me so we can laugh.”

Screaming and pleading
They’re so sweet
As the tiny tears roll down
While they’re hanging, swinging
In my cellar
Strength leaves
With a gasp of breath

The little children
And their cries
WHY? WHY? WHY?
The angry parents
And their lies
LIES! LIES! LIES!

So now when you see a clown
Broken down at the edge of town
Will you see a laughing saint
Or wonder at the taint beneath the paint

...

Madame, that actually made me laugh

HadesRising said:Madame, that actually made me laugh

Lol--yeah , probably not what you were looking for, for this comp, but it just popped in my head for the subject matter! Haha

It's fine, Madame. I want everyone to be creative

"As the Makeup Rusted away....."



I would see this demon for what it was worth.
Inhuman and tarnished with sins and iniquity.
It had become a vessel for the undead's rebirth.

It was no clown at all that would walk the
fairway that night at the big top.  It was an
inhuman beast dragging the innards of some poor
child it tore from its mothers safe arms.  

Laughing and rubbing his hands together and using
the blood from the recently torn flesh and some
sort of war paint coloring.  All around me no one
would see the real dark evil the way I had seen it.

It was then it looked at me and noticed the horror
and fear in my own eyes.  And it knew I knew its true
form.  It was then I began to run for the hills.  

Feeling so alone and cold, like a disfigured clown,
who's always talking to himself, since know one calls
Or comes around.

He hides himself away, in the corner of his room,
He grips the pistol tight, as he writes this note to you.

I will always love you and see you in my dreams,
So now I close my eyes forever for my mind to be set
Free.

When she reads the note, she falls to both her knees,
Curls up close beside her clown, knowing love was
All he needs.

Screaming at herself as the tears, they hit the ground.
She never had the chance to say, how much she loved her clown.......

By darkheartmagic

© 2013 darkheartmagic (All rights reserved)

Big Top Deception

He'd sit in the old wooden rocker
always by the window, shades drawn

the 40 watt bulb looked like 20
as its light reached the broken man
with the rosy cheeks and over sized smile

yellow flower drooping over a worn out hat
and a bright red hanky, always damp
peeked sadly over a torn pocket
hanging off an old jacket

his patchwork Zoot suit hinting at better days
as he'd light cigarettes and smoke in the musty haze

behind a big top persona
and a grin too big for his face
below the lost pretentions
he is safe

"Wild Kin Jokers"
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/118742.jpg
I read his note,
it brought
a smile to my lips,
I could relate to
exactly how he felt.

There was no mystery
in his written-words,
but there was
a subtle threat.
Said he was out
of the asylum,
able to pursue his
evil-profession
again,
and
would.
The explicit-warning
stated
for us
not to play his hand,
that he'd win,
‘cause
he was wild.

Right then,
at that precise moment,
I realized
we were kin,
both
deadly-jokers,
hence the grin.

Treasure Hunt

He leans over the table
Lit by the harsh florescent bulbs, and
Smells of formaldehyde, bleach,
And just a hint of sour blood.
His eyes, pits of blackened tar
Behind the garish blue and white makeup
Light up with glee
As he sharpens the scalpel,
The corners of his painted on smile
Reach high on his face
As a malicious grin spreads
While he begins to
Slowly make his cuts
Through layers of buttery skin
On a fat little boy
Who reeks of ether and popcorn.

Blood comes streaming out
In rivulets of red
And drip onto his oversized shoes.
He screams in delight
As his treasure hunt wields
His first prize, the first of many
A kidney, which he
Almost reverently
Presses to paint stained lips
Then tucks away in his treasure chest
Along with all the others.
Then he turns back to his toy,
So he can continue his hunt
For his favorite treasures.

Reflections of a Pissed Off Killown

"Asshole," is what junior murmured under his breath

All because I wouldn't make the little snot another balloon poodle
Here's the Crayolas, there's the corner
Be a good boy and just go doodle

Doesn't junior know the hole is what I'll put in his mother's ass at one time or another
Cause  if I fucked her straight up
I might get idiots kids like him and his shit little brother

It's the same routine, gig after gig
With the same fuckin' painted on smile

Say something funny
Juggle some knives
Take a picture with a child

Same routine of Vicodin,
Valium and Viagra for all these shitty people to get past their shitty lies
I see right past their facade with these painted Bozo eyes  

I can smell the rancor of suburban bliss on some of them even with my big rubber nose
The skin of lepers disguised in preposterous designer clothes
They wear it like armor to tell their friends from their foes

I can tell the blonde milf there with the paid for jugs is married to a lawyer or some broker schmuck
Now she's tired of the same 15 year choreographed seven minute fuck

I give her the naughty clown wink and nod towards my size 24 boats

Know what they say about a man and his shoes
No more singing, The Unsatisfied Housewife Blues  

But here boys and girls is where the real party begins
The jack-in-the-box in this sin of sins

See, she gets to ride this Mad Hatter as part of some twisted fantasy fuck
While hubby is bound and gagged in my rainbow painted truck

I dispose of the body with the same ease in which I toot-toot my horn
This one'll be buried at the cemetery in Fairlawn

It's not a hard dig, just three feet or so
The sod already softened from the previous show
I bury them on top of someone just laid to rest
Face down, this way the lawyer does what he does best

Fuck the world with worms in his chest

Toot-fuckin-toot

all of these were great, everyone did a great job. But Lobo and Erin, those poems were absolutely sick. Good job and thanks for playing

Hey Hades, thanks for the great contest. I really appreciate the win, and great poems everyone!

Congratulations Erin...