The drums beating at my brain like rain onto a window,

soft yet stabbing into the silence of these 3 rooms.

One,

a mall filled with clown faces,

false expressions of undying love

and the bogus perkiness 

to be compared with that of a young pup.

Two,

a room of eccentricies

and sunshine brightness.

the innocence of a newborn child,

in the arms of her mother with the

bliss-filled eyes and haggard expression.

the shadows behind the blossoming bushes.

Three,

a nook made of torn valentines

of blackened locks without their keys

and the bleakness of the new moon.

the shadow that follows the one who cannot sleep

and the useless knowledge that all I am,

or will ever be is a worthless buffoon,

covered in painted happiness.

Drumming stops,

thoughts slow to a snails pace,

and my eyes close,

my mind muted as I drift into sightless peace.

Dreaming dreams I cannot see.