In my mind there's a dark dark place
So dark in fact
It hides my face
The one I wear in public is merely
For you to see
Because beneath this mask
Is a sad broken clown
Pagliacci, yes, that's me.
I can paint pictures when I write
But feel I'm never heard
with my pen I can ignite
Each and every single word
Isolated and alone
I feel I lack expression
I guess I'm on my own
With this manic dark depression
I can make you laugh
And appear to have the world at my feet
But behind closed doors
I'm a little less discreet
Every mirror that looks back at me
Tells a much sadder story
This here broken clown's a victim of his own former glory
No one is aware
Of this mask I hide behind
Through my anguish and despair
People seem to be so blind
For I'm screaming out to them
Please, please can you help me
But no one seems to see
How I've become like pagliacci
My demons wear me down
And my smile is like make up
for a sad unhappy clown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You really hit the nail on the head. Who we portray to the world is not who we are inside but we cannot let despair win. If you have not conquered your depression hang in there you are not alone.