The Worm of The Mind

Crawling through my mind
Are the crying clowns of horror
Their tears are shaped like knives
Glistening red in the moon
On the ground, deflated
Lies my hope and all my energy
Its distorted shapes looks a lot like the American Dream
Little men running away from my soul,
In my head
They mirror images of criminals
Maybe Wayne Gacy or Gein, Holmes, Dahmer, or maybe Bundy
But the fairies are the worst
Resembling angels with cold mystique
I know they cannot be real
Their bodies may be warm (the heat comes from the fires of hell)
But they speak no beauty
For their decapitated heads keep rolling,
Rolling, rolling
I hear their words fading into a closer distance
Unattainable and out of reach
Yet the sound makes me claustrophobic (echoes can be disastrous)
A strange place, such a strange place
The worm of the mind