Today I shot a clown,

To see what colors he bled.

I watched with a frown,

To see nothing more than red.

Funny how it's the same as when I talk to you,

Amusing the way I hate your smile,

Make me mad, it's what you love to do,

Treat me bad so I feel vile.

I hate to write like this,

Write because you told me,

And I hate it when I miss

The ending of a story

So I'll call her instead,

She knows the end,

And her color isn't red,

She always was a friend.