Wrath.

He tried to smoke away his pain,
And burn away his tears.
Held the glass in a mottled fist,
To somehow drown his fears.

He swore he wouldn’t go,
Till the song was sung.
Till the story had been told,
And the bell was rung.

If only he’d been smarter,
She’d still be there.
Instead of broken glass,
He’d feel her golden hair.

But the time has passed on,
And the book is writ.
The shrouded hand of fate,
Has been venomously bit.

On a silent summer day,
He can still recall.
When the wind was still warm,
As the leaves began fall.

As the sun found the horizon,
He’d found her arms.
In the midst of a storm,
She was an island of calm.

But he was arrogant and a fool,
As time would soon show.
When with the touch of a gun,
Her blood began to flow.

It wasn’t he who pulled the trigger,
He’d scream to the world.
It wasn’t her pleading cry,
That they had heard.

He claimed he did not do it,
He was an innocent man.
Even though they found her blood,
On his shirt and hands.

Those Men of God had judged him,
As the foulest of men.

They’d cast their blame upon him,
Time and again.

So he’d cradled sweet revenge,
Like the glass in his palms.
He’d waited time and again,
For the pain to pass.

But tonight was a darker night,
It was a time to prey.
Those who had judged him,
Would now have to pay.

He felt the familiar weight,
Of wood and cast lead.
He went on to cleanse the land,
With the purest dread.

Today he transcends the man,
As he walks his chosen path.
He embodies the seventh sin,
He becomes Wrath.

Note: This work happens to be connected to The Killer, which I wrote a while back. It's a prequel of sorts, if they even exist in poetry.

The Joker in the pack.

There are striking similarities between being a Joker in the 52 and one in real life.

It goes far deeper than just being a humour-monger and the centre of excitement. Like they say, there's a face I wear behind my grin. I prefer to think about it this way; the joker can be whatever he wants in a game of cards. In life, I much prefer the fun of keeping people guessing than being strapped down as one 'type'. Then, there's also the fact that there are only 2 jokers but 4 of every other card, which gives me a misplaced sense of uniqueness.

Add to that the fact that sometimes the joker is the most coveted and at other times he's completely excluded. This cruel twist of fate applies in real life with incredible accuracy and it's something that adds a touch of excitement to every tomorrow. Never knowing at what point in the hierarchy I stand makes me constantly push myself to move higher up in the scheme of things. All the while being the crazy fuck that the Joker is supposed to be.

Being the joker however, comes at a steep price. The constant clowning and unending need to stand apart begins to wear thin and if the façade cracks for even a moment, it all comes undone. So, despite being the apparent extrovert the Joker is the ultimate recluse who reveals himself only to a chosen few, if any.
It's a brilliant ruse that takes up an immense amount of exertion, but I've realized that if you constantly smile for no apparent reason that smile becomes a part of you. It makes you treasure moments that would otherwise pass you by and it gives you a sense of freedom and fuck-it-all that few have the privilege to experience.

So, in conclusion, I've realized that I thrive in ridicule and I enjoy keeping people guessing at exactly what I'm up to. It also feeds that insatiable urge within me to make people judge me in the first go, so that I can shatter that illusion later on.

Now whether the Joker comes out of on top in this game, we'll have to wait and see.