I had been drawn into a dark circus of a world; a world where high-wired voices had giggled so delicately, over nothing.
This is the spirit of the circus, they had voiced with curled lips, and it’s about laughing over fake flowers, to entertain the curious.
Summers had slipped, and my laughs had burned out like old rings of fire. The mouths of jugglers had wheezed at my woeful face.
A circus is no place for a sad heart, they’d chorused.