Petrushka

I exist to please.

But I must breathe, inhale and exhale,

only the sharp cold air

that compresses me out,

that cages me in.

What do I see?

Nothing, but I long for more.

I long to escape this amity with my soul,

but all that follows me

is calamity, nothing more.

I am in love with something

too far to reach.

Even that star is closer,

a star of misfortune

and deceit.

But my love is longing,

I cannot wait.

No more smiles, no more silence

can cover me.

Me and my shame.

From afar, a glowing silhouette

meant only for me to see.

But she is dead, long dead,

in my heart

now left to bleed.

And I dance in circles,

beauty that cannot be described.

Oh, how I wished to accept,

and be accepted

by her, by them.

But all ends in vain,

unwanted and useless.

Left only for the folly to realize,

no more strings hold me back

no more strings left to pull.

And hence I torment,

and struggle,

with I and me.

With a face that does not falter,

I play God’s final cacophany.

And once more I lose,

no wit nor trick

can be played.

And once more I die,

I am folly’s maestro in display.

I am Petrushka.

God, why am I me?