9 November 2012
He stands half heartedly behind the counter, watching the seconds tick away. Tired of hiding behind closed doors, eagerly awaiting the end of his day.
In the rustic rural Post Office, he feels hidden behind the cladding exterior. As he tries to overcome his insecurities and his feelings of being inferior.
He would hate for his secret to be exposed, to proud to admit, that he feels all alone, With his life so full of sadness, and a fear of the future ahead unknown.
So he slips into a new identity, with the lure of the greasepaint calling. To hide behind the face of a clown, he no longer feels like he’s falling.
With his white, smiling pasty grin, and his thatch of straw coloured hair. A jester’s hat, and a red cherry nose confidence emitting without any care.
As the innocence of children enthrals him, he knows that he can never feel defeated. They only see his confidence, Now that his transformation is completed.
As the crowds start to disperse, he slips back into the normality, of his working day clothes, that brings back the air, of a cold and lonely reality.
He’s too afraid to face all of his weaknesses, to admit to all of his fears So he spends another night despondent, With his face all smudged in tears.
The Chameleon • Opuss № I