Flash of knives, slowly caught,
A blood red smile, highly sought
A devilish grin from side to side
Splitting skin no longer hides
No amount of stitches could possibly save
This pathetic clown; Prince of Knaves
All strung up like a turkey, right?
The city folk cheer in delight
In the buildings gas is leaking,
Behind leather restraints, the muscle creaking
Tethered high above the crowd
Their cheering strong and oh so loud
Jeering, shouting, building higher,
… The ink ran out and she threw her pen, anger now tinting her emotions. It was there, all of it was just on the outside of her mind's grasp. She could see it again every time she closed her eyes; blackness emerging from the shadows, attacking the man with a smile, slicing his cheeks until the junction of jaw to skull stopped the blade's progress.
She knew it was true, saw it with her own two eyes, was close enough to almost smell the blood, and could hear the laughter as the demonic bat tied the man above the crowd like an offering to some high god. The clawed at the air, desperate to kill, rip asunder the purple and green clad body. They shouted, harsh and unforgiving as the manclown could offer them only laughter.
They were going to all die though, she could smell the propane drifting through the foundations, wrapping gently around the mob's legs, a caress before death strikes. The bat man held the match, hand on rope so that the clown had to watch as everything he helped build got blown away. All the smiles he had been working on lost, like gas on silk paintings; ruined.
They burned in front of her, she could feel the heat and smell the stench. She was close enough to see a woman's skin boil away, to see a man claw at his own flash to stop the burn. She watched as people ran over other people, trampling the sick, old, weak, and children underfoot to claw at the walls; just like real life, except in Technicolor and much, much more obvious.
She looked around her present surroundings, confused as the people passed her by, not stopping for a glance, ignoring the paper with words written large. It was always like that. They hated the Clown prince, called him a psychopath and murderer. She called them fools. They knew not of which they spoke.
She saw the bat. The man who had wings. A demon that came to torment the helpless, cast the world into darkness. Make them feel suffering and fear. Her hero was bright though, intelligent, always smiling and always telling the most clever of jokes. How could they confuse the two so horribly?
But, she would show them, would stand by the comedian's side to help his worthy cause. He could get the world laughing again; stop the madness of suffering and blindness that permeated the fabric of this reality. She could show them; they just had to look.
Demon glowing, pitch dark night
Not a laugh or sound in sight
Hidden in the evening sun
Soon it is his time to come
The sun is set, he takes flight
Inspiring only the deepest of fright
But laughter kills him, holds him down
He turns around all the frowns
Paste and kohl and red lipstick
He'll always be there to take the hit
Grinning laughing all the same
Who's the one they called insane?