I want that pretty one. The one in the leather skirt, which seems so new to me. With legs so fit, which I am not allowed to touch. With eyes so foreign, I'm ashamed to watch.

I look at her with the corner of my eye. I might be shy, but I'm ashamed as well. But I have so much love to give. I'm forced to turn away just to feel her gentle glance caressing my discarded shell.

What's the reason for my shame? I don't blame myself for sins. I shared them with the brotherhood of men. I was dancing like the rest of them. Singing an anthem with a face of a clown. "Show me I'm not worthless." I was like the rest of them, and that's why I'm ashamed.

I decided to retire my clown costume. But I still see it in the reflection of their eyes. I walk away when I should've stayed. I desert in the name of love. I walk a lonely walk while clowns still dance their marching band.

I glance again at her leather skirt. I search for eyes under her curls. I wonder how her cheek would feel. How bright her eyes could shine for me. I wish to be that clown of hers. I wish to be that clown again.

lukapirc