raskolnikov

Dark corridors,
Streets of St. Petersburg.
The staircase where you wandered,
Wondered
If the sun would shine the same,
If you could be great.

It was better as a fantasy,
The alley where they lie under a stone-
You didn't want them anymore,
Would rather throw yourself
Into the river
With the roubles.
Was it worth it?

This pain is your own doing-
Tormented by the question,
The desire to be different-
Could you kill?

If you were great,
It didn't last-
The ramblings of a mad man.
How to get rid of her ghost
When she was only a louse
And you were Napoleon?

But Napoleon must kiss the ground,
Story of Lazarus
You read in her room.
Weep and cry out
"I am a murderer."

It was more than Lizaveta
And the pawnbroker.
You killed the man
You used to be.
And for what?
To prove your theory.

How are you so different
From the nasty Svidrigailov?
Is this all that we are,
In a moment gone?
Crushed under the carriage
And the horse?

You saw it in your dream,
The whip, the fall-
Hid it in a crack in the wall,
Sound of a knock on the door.

A fearful lie
That we will have time
To speak freely of everything.
Siberia, the only freedom
From the bondage of your silence.

Sonia,
Shame and beauty that you share.
Lay down your bloody axe,
Lay down your fear.

Napoleon
Is nothing now,
Worn old Bible of Lizaveta
In the hands of a prostitute.
The Neva will not claim you.

Trade the prison of your madness
For the iron bars of justice-
Haven't you suffered enough
Under the weight of your guilt?
But this is right.
There is life in the reveal.

You have failed
And you will turn yourself in.
Epilogue,
Facing your sin.
How do you live with a ghost?
You become one yourself.

Still holding on to your theory,
Great men can,
But you were not great.
All of this
The fastidiousness
Of youth-
The murderer and the prostitute.

Lazarus, lay down your pride.
She has followed you
Into the darkness.
Shadows of the past,
Light of forgiveness.