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The shorter the day, the more poignant the tears.

I have always tried to be stronger and better,

Telling the truth and discussing ideas.

I've got tired of waiting, sowing spores into cracks.

I've got tired to pose my inmost pain as the oomph.

I've got tired to pose my weakness as if it`s my strength.

And small hills of victory to pose as high triumph.

The darker the night, the whiter the ashes.

The bitterer the honey, the thinner the saliva.

Releasing my awe and unbearable passion,

I`m cutting my chest, burning runes of survival.

Hark! The fowl convulses. The dark blood is spilled over.

Night is as fast as a deadly shot.

You can see no faces. Only dark grim figures.

Your red dreams will burst like volcanic flow.

My ardent body runs through the cruel rain.

I have closed the doors. I have chosen peace.

Thousands of eyes. These are passion beasts.

Soon there will be none. Napalm waits for them.

2017

Morning After

Like with hot lava I`m seething with sex.

The cold wall of rain blurs over grey windows.

The morning. The bitterness. The poems. The snow.

I feel pleasure and pain, I think, I`m weirdo.

The time waits for so long, but then spins away.

The day that decays for me sends innuendos.

I can't breathe without you. And your silhouette

I see in the park, but I lurk in the shadows.

Like with hot lava I`m seething with sex.

I wallow in memories, which have the taste of my pain.

I do not dream of you, be sure, relax.

I just play my role in this wicked game.

My bitter tea is burning the cup,

How can porcelain feel hurt like a girl?

The mask turns to face, disclosing the truth.

I imbibed your essence like a priestess the salt.

I will understand. We have different views.

We have different ways. We have different fates.

But I breathe with you in my solitude.

Your skin keeps as a secret my derma cells.

The rain falls to puddles, freezing and grey.

A part of you lumps somewhere in my throat.

It's morning. It's painful. I know - you`ll leave.

Locking myself, I let you go.

2015 - 2017

The Draughts

I just cannot love. But I try to get closer to draughts.

I think, they will soothe my wounds, they will still my pain.

But my dignity hurts so does my throat.

Leaving thick, bitter semen, you had been everywhere.

I feel like got tight. There is amber gold in my fingers,

It looks like a yellow sapphire in my heart,

That is craving for praise.

It just cannot burn. But it hurts. And as sharp as a razor,

it cuts my tense nerves via the only your gaze.

I die in your feet, for your sake, in your honor.

The lilies bloom with hot wax between legs.

I really want to be the only your woman.

Like a serpent I'm coiling around your chest.

I really love. We are just gifts for each other.

Thank you for the pain, for the roles in the Theatre of Love.

I'm willing to whine like a wolf

As we still are just nothing.

"All things must pass" - whisper I, not believing.

It is in the blood.

2017

1 2 months

January. Coffee. Snow desert.

I leave apart the crumpled sheets.

You cause me pain. You give me, as a present,

The whirl of doubts and the carnal bliss.

February is sparkling with the sunrays.

Hold on, my Lord, I catch your bitter kiss.

The coffee burns my stomach, fills my nighttime.

In front of you, I bend my broken knees.

March is so dirty. Snow `s muddy brown.

The springs are running. We seem to fall apart.

April. Silence. I will not be crying.

You seem to treat me like a bloody slut.

May rejoices with the bright, warm sunlight.

I am so free. I`m filling with delight.

I start my June with a kiss of tender lover.

He is not like you. I leave behind the past.

July. Again. The nights are rather stuffy.

I open windows. I gaze at my blue veins.

August agonizes roughly.

I miss your kiss, your voice. All this in vain.

September. And you suddenly appear,

You are afraid of autumn and of pain.

You say, you need me. I am moved to tears.

You say I am the woman of your fate.

October tastes like mulled wine, nights are horny.

You are in me like poison, like a knife.

November. Stranger`s lipstick. I` am groaning.

Compelling evidence- you`re not completely mine.

December. Happy New Hysterics...

The walls are stained with dainties,

Washed with blood.

The floor is wet and frighteningly cerise

I wish you happy Christmas.

Love is blind.

I feel like being roughly tortured.

My heart is emptied.

The throat is torn with cry.

You are the winner.

I am completely broken.

I won`t be yours.

You have been never mine.

2015

My comfort

My comfort is of loneliness and sex.

I watch lamplights across the ceiling.