During the performance what you have seen,
be with lust or awe drooling from your gaze,
was hardly the real me; that shining smile
and that mild amorous glint on my eyes,
they were nothing but mere acts for the show,
conjured up to entertain then wiped off.
Each night when the show is over
and the seats are empty once more,
I must let my tears flow, until
this burning in my heart is gone,
only then I can close my eyes to sleep.
When I would wake up the next day,
having slept through the remnant of the night,
to this cruel stage I must come back to earn my keep.
The players, like me, can bleed inside or even die,
no matter what, the grand show of life must go on.
Poems 