Pretty In Pathos Poem by Alexander Downie

At the heart of the matter lays bitter broken dreams,
soiled memories of a brutal past of what has and has not been.
Head down on gravel streets without thrown rocks, insults or rain,
pastel strokes of lost composure, drowned in the wildest waves of pain.

Steal small consolations from sunshine the creeps across a linen cold bed,
make excuses for inaction, avoid feeding the raping demons in your hurt head.
Take a razor to a haggard, age ridden face, mirrors are cracked, once and a while,
clown a false face for cowards that darken your heart and raise a pretty pathos smile.