I am tired of

searching for myself

in the arms of someone else,

I am impatient to heal

from the wounds you inflicted

and the wounds I inflict on myself,

so I try to pass the time

by counting every 

red and white stripe

in this tent I can find.

When I get tired of counting,

I run through these memories 

and I wait

for the clown to gag himself

on your string of unfulfilled promises. 

Still 

my mind dangles thoughts of you

in front of me,

and I am getting ready 

to maul the lion-tamer 

when I remember that

she has a job to do too.