My eyes are wide open.

Can I see their faces now,

pink lips cast in a bright flash,

their mouths open like dark caves.

But why are they smiling? It must be so pretty up here.

No.

Think again.

They are smiling…and laughing.

Laughing…pointing…

at me.

I can see my hair, colorless once,

now coated in sheets of blood red.

Think again, now.

They put it up there…the blood,

its angry, curling drops masking my face.

I must look like a monster.

But maybe I'm a clown instead.

Their points go to my pathetic face, where I am painted,

just like those bastards that I never laughed at.

(Mama would never take me to the circus.)

Think again right now, Mama.

Drenched in this awful stuff, I am a clown.

I must be if they are laughing at me.

This night was supposed to be my pocket of sunshine, as they say.

But how can I do that when I'm covered with blood,

and I have no pockets?

Think again, Carrie.

I'm going to fill their minds with blood,

and then spill it all.

Think again, everyone here.

Think again, one more time, before you're gone.