Me as a clown

I know this sounds dumb
And I'm pretty sure it’s the rum
Giving me the courage to write it all down.
And I know it is true what they say
Things seem better in the light of day,
But I really think I may be a clown.
Seriously, this is not just about a rhyme
I honestly think about it all the time.
It perfectly describes me as a noun.
Not like the classic clown from the parties,
With oversized shoes handing out smarties.
But like the sad ones you see with a frown.
Not like the ones at court
Who makes people laugh and snort.
Rather the tramp with the suitcase of brown.
What is in her case you would think
Is it just a collection of papers and ink
But no, in it is actually a tattered gown.
It used to be glitzy with glamour galore
It turned heads when I walked through the door.
Naturally, I wore it everywhere around town.
But now, like my poor broken heart
My beautiful dress falls apart
Just like my sorrows that I, in liquor, drown.
I have fallen off the prancing circus horse
Not a real one but a metaphor of course.
And as you can tell my ‘spirits’ are down.
So now you can see that it's true
Like the blubber of funny glue
My subsistence has turned me into a clown.