You, within the holy trinity,
The women beside you erasing
Themselves, in service to you and
Who they think you are.
They cradle you more than their own children.
You, the greatest child of them all, with
All the lies and fabrications in your pocket,
Your neck-breaking art to seduce.
Your head sinks to one side, the mouth loose,
The eyes copying the heartbeat of a country,
Sacrilegious, parasitic, and you entitle yourself,
A thief that takes everything in the last moments
He gets. And these women adorn him, proud,
And ignorant. Holding him up, shielding his light
From overarching darkness at any cost.
They drool out big words, speaking of love
And genius, without ever making it past the facade.
What he did when he felt he was on fire,
When he felt threatened into a corner by his own decisions,
When everything that he truly was burned him bit by bit,
When he hated himself so much that he lashed out,
When he was overcome by the violence within him,
When the comedy around him deserted him.
You were the audience that he made laugh.
We were the ones stuck in front row seats
When the showman fell asleep and the tyrant burst out.
Croque-Melpomene 