Foolish Pierrot
wearing pearls of folly and gemstones of recklessness.
Stop sneaking glances of care at the two bottles sitting empty on your nightstand.

You can add to your glass collection,
but all you will have is blood in your handle.
A loss of reality is not time travel.
Writing confessions will not cause him to love you again.

Fluctuating between manic nights and
days where you cannot leave your bed,
you punish yourself because he never did.

As you grieve, 
weeping until your body shakes and seizes,
you feel less like a clown and more like an entire circus.

Featured art: “Petite Pierrot” by Jorunn Mulen.