Jokester
Struts around like he owns the place. Gives me confidence.
This is him. The Demon of Laughter, a Loki, the God of Night.
He jokes, laughs, plays games. Anything he wants, he does, takes, owns.
Yet I see him cry. Deep, inside. Every outburst he enjoys, yet despises. "To live it so die," what else does he have?
Only the small credit I give him, everyone else thinks him a fool. Because they see the chaos, the maniac, he who is untame!
... Yet I see the small worried thing inside, scared of the spotlight that is always shinning, it sees it upon itself, and throws up protecting arms of laughter.
This is he, my friend of Miserable Cheer.