Cliche Carnival
By KissTheSkyPH
Another face is in the mirror;The mask you wear is growing clearer.You embrace the shadows of the nightAnd your only dreams are those of flight.You swing at foes that you can’t see.They turn to face you and you flee.You start on time and end up late,A clash of destiny and fate.When all the world is upside downA smile comes out as a frown.Pound the walls, just scream and shoutYou’re looking for the easy-outBut the glass is running out of sandWith you still lost in Wonderland.You stand in circles then you faint.Just call yourself a dying saint.Time is up, you had your chance,The last attempt at real romance.You can’t relate, you can’t contendNo use in trying to pretend.The world was never yours to take.It can never bend, but you can break.Another dusk, another dawn,You can’t keep up. You’re too far gone.August 2000, Also written upon entering recovery from bulemia. Basically utter disgust at how stereotypical my perversion was, though I couldn't let go of it. I called it cliche carnival for that reason and because after reading what I'd written, I was disgusted by my inability to express anything original about what I was going through. Is there a category of 'self-disgust'? Written October 27th, 2001 © on Oct 26 2001 05:33 PM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"Another face is in the mirror;The mask you wear is growing clearer.You embrace the shadows of the nightAnd your only dreams are those of flight.You swing at foes that you can’t see.They turn to face you and you flee.You start on time and end up late,A clash of destiny and fate.When all the world is upside downA smile comes out as a frown.Pound the walls, just scream and shoutYou’re looking for the easy-outBut the glass is running out of sandWith you still lost in Wonderland.You stand in circles then you faint.Just call yourself a dying saint.Time is up, you had your chance,The last attempt at real romance.You can’t relate, you can’t contendNo use in trying to pretend.The world was never yours to take.It can never bend, but you can break.Another dusk, another dawn,You can’t keep up. You’re too far gone.August 2000, Also written upon entering recovery from bulemia. Basically utter disgust at how stereotypical my perversion was, though I couldn't let go of it. I called it cliche carnival for that reason and because after reading what I'd written, I was disgusted by my inability to express anything original about what I was going through. Is there a category of 'self-disgust'?..."