The wire cuts, burns the flesh, my heart walks the tightrope of death, balance and thread on barb wire, slicing and slashing, I walk on still. The crowd bellow below, faces mashing in baited breathe, anticipating the girls plunge. The red circus tent adored with lights and fake galore. This house of fun, of amusement for greedy ones, on top a pile of rubble, on a mound of tattered lands, draped in sequins glittered, whip and lions roar. The ringmaster prowls, as the wind laps, canvas tent flaps. I loose my balance and fall, the crowd gasp. Between fingers peek, eyes of sickening oddity. All for your entertainment, in the house of fun.