‘The child’s laughter is pure until he first laughs at a clown.’
I never really thought about those words. They were just a little note from the early years, when I was still looking for inspiration. I do remember them though, even now. When I was pure. Before I laughed. Before I smiled. The words make me smile.
you are nothing
I cannot remember the first time. The first sound. The first smile. I was not pure the first time. I knew who I was, but I knew nothing. I was nothing, really. But I was inspired, I was passionate. It filled something. I remember the first time.
So I tried again. Hiding my face. In fear. Anxious, nervous, excited. Facing the truth.
Help rebuild from inside. Bring a smile to their face. Sounds of pure laughter. Again.
you are the son of man
‘Nothing will come of nothing.’ Another note? Same book I think.
I cannot make myself out of nothing. Be pure.
And so I gather my tools, night after night, and choose my new face.
Night after night, the show must go on. I slide into the crowd, as nothing.
Search for a new one. I am nothing without a face. Nothing. Just a tool.
Before I leave the room, I look in the mirror one more time.
Skin as white as bone, nose as red as blood, lips as blue as a corpse.
High-pitch laughter shrieking in the dark.