Rire, Goddess of Laughter

This is not funny-

Why am I still Laughing?

Fingertips frosted a sullen red,

The plightful, pitying Laugh, powerless and placid,

The liquid life

drips and slips,

Dropping and sliding, dancing and swinging down

onto the eyelash of this blissfully smiling chilled face.

I killed him, I didn't want to,

I just wanted to brush the sour joke off.

The joke was lemon on my tongue, acid on my teeth.

I didn’t want to.  

Their horrid glow bored throughout the body ,

Sinking to the earth.

Into a pool of their murky rose-dew blood,

I sink to my knees,

They are gone, finally, he is gone.

The abomination of lost dark humor is dead.

I can hear the yelling from nearby, the shock of the crowd.

That I was capable of killing.

The embodiment of joy could kill.

I can't play this off as a joke, it's too demeaning.

My guilty eyes only studied the thick, inky, red, pool.

 

Red,

like baby’s frightened cheeks

and tiny strawberries for turtles to eat,

Warm,

as children´s parties,

And my lovers ghastly volcanic arms.

Lost,

Like an occasional punch line.

Shadows of grief cross my face.

I Laugh in the body’s distant face, the face of my own son.

The crowd stares shocked

I didn't mean to do this mutiny, Kappa,

You just insulted him.

And I couldn't take it,

Why would you insult him?!

I can sense him now, behind me, in the morning square,

his amorous amber singed hair and ashy genuine smile.

dissmully joyous

his Laughter tasted of overcooked marshmallows

eyes shone like onyx,

encrusted with lethal solar flares.

Kappa made a joke, a sick joke that wasn't funny.

He died, he died at his own hands!

Our ironic idosecrency dichotomy was now a monopoly,

A dead monopoly… a lottery of Laughter.

I wasn't Laughing then- but I am now.

Laughing.

Why, I had Laughed when I held his chilling face,

My illicit son so close to my breast,

I cradled him,

pale lips smudged to a childish smile by my burdened fingertips.

This is the first time I’ve seen my child’s face since he was a babe…

His art then, started so sweetly, like a painting in a train station

Soon though, it lead to humanities humiliated heretics and manipulated

mutanity’s,

Though watermarked and censorship dictatorships.

Why did you have to make such a sour joke,

My dear damned child, why..

Why against your own father.

Why am I Laughing?

Why is joy this raw of a pain?

The result of comedy and tragedy

And the guilt of their son,

Has choked me on my own gargling dry giggles of pain.

My own fleeting smile leaving, left depressed and restless.

And with a last chuckle of pain,

At last my eyes can rain.