I think I bought too much
and the day is coming to an end.

I think, maybe, I did not say enough,
trying to stay competent and erect.

I think, I know, there is no end,
this tears we shed, they only choke.

This end of time we both face
it's just a phase, we don't die yet.

my brain

My whole brain was out of tune...

I don't know how to tune a brain, do you?

So, I took it into a brain shop. They said: Well, we'd have to rebuild the whole head. I said well, do what you gotta do.

When i got my brain back, it didn't work right... Didn't have as many good ideas...

Haven't really have a good idea since i got it fixed...

in space

Happy people have no past.
Unhappy have nothing but the past.

If I stop breathing now, 
at this moment,
unhappy as I am,
as I ever was,
will I be stuck in the past
forever?

2020

It was the best of times.

It was the worst of times.

It was the age of wisdom, 

It was the age of foolishness.

It was the epoch of belief, 

it was the epoch of incredulity, 

it was the season of Light, 

it was the season of Darkness, 

it was the spring of hope, 

it was the winter of despair, 

we had everything before us, 

we had nothing before us, 

we were all going direct to Heaven, 

we were all going to Hell…

It was the year of Jokers. 

The year of fools.

The year of fear.

We learned a lot about ourselves. 

It brought the worst in us.

The best in us.

It made us think.

Made us see…

Distant to the nature.

Distant to ourselves.

We relearned how to love.

How to hate.

How to cry.

How to laugh.

This year…

I died. 

I was reborn.

I relieved.

I relived.

I met you.

I met myself.

I met them.

I learned to love.

What cannot be loved.

To appreciate.

To care.

To smile.

To show the light.

To you.

To them.

To myself.

It is ours. 

This world.

This time.

All the fuck-ups.

All the shame.

All the blame.

We deserved it.

We earned it.

We live it.

And we will survive this.

Because we have each other.

We believe in love.

We believe in pain.

Here we us!

There is a crack, a crack in everything,

That is how the light gets in...

Damnation.

 There's a place where you go if you try to kill yourself, and you don't succeed. The underworld. The world where you survived. But you didn't. Things are a little worse than in the real world. And every time you try to kill yourself, you wake up in a new interworld of the interworld. A place little shittier than before. 

I was lying on the floor and collected the remains. Time for thinking. I was supposed to be dead, and I wasn't. Your gaze stopped me. You were looking at me. You were hungry.

Time. For thinking. So… I was supposed to be dead, and I wasn’t. So I shouldn't give a fuck. From today on, everything is a bonus. So, if I become a jerk, if I start talking and doing whatever I want, as long as I want, when I get bored of it and when I overdo it - I can always try to kill myself again, and wake up in a new shittier interworld. 

It doesn't fail to surprise me.

I got up from the floor and opened the fridge.

Fuck it, let's eat ice cream today.

Mama will soon be home.

I am glad I have you little one. But why did you not appear in my original world? Why I needed to die in order for you to appear?

december

 About a hole in the wall as big as the sky.
About the shooting star.
About you.
And my speech, and the words written about you, insult both you and me.
And I can't keep quiet.
I can't forget the night and the dead bum.
The dead man's stiff fingers and my dream in which you wandered.
Are you still hiding the blind crow that they gave you, not to go crazy?
Do you believe the moon is green when viewed through bars?
Do you see a stranger sneaking on you on a horse, by the lake?
They say that your beard has started to grow, that your hair has turned white.
That they saw you walking around the cemetery.
Do you still dream of the same thing they stole from you?

Are you afraid of people?
You were always afraid of people.

It's just you and me.
No way to leave this city, nowhere to escape from this dream.
I'm starting to hate you.
Not much.
As a friend without whom you can't… who knows too much about you…
Which you know too much about.

Don't be mad at me if you're still alive somewhere, if you read this poem.

This is not a poem, anyways.

emmentaler

We are sitting in a room of stone.
Seven walls.
Room without windows.
Room without a door.
Without a roof.

I'm telling you.
You're telling me.
Nobody hears.
Stone doesn't listen.
The stone does not absorb.
The stone forgets.

We speak.
Everything we didn't dare.
Wanted.
Knew.
Which we forgot.
Throns of thorns.

Thorns sting.
Gives more.
Tears.
Blood.
Truth.
Saliva.

Give me more.
Just more.
Always.
More.
…some more. 

Lies.
Stones.
Which absorbs.
Which doesn't forget.

I get up.
You make me a door.
You always make a door.
I say thank you.
You're crying.

Sorry, but.
A lie is easier.
And you get use to the pain.
You always get use to it.

I'm leaving.
In front of the room - people.
Everyone.
Which I know and don't know.
Which I loved.
Hated.
Killed.
Beaten.
Which I conspired about.
Which I restrained.
Lied.

They're watching me.
I'm crying.
I'm shouting.
They laugh.
They're shooting at me.
With stones.
My stones.
Which absorbed.
And didn't forget.

I pierce me.
I waddle.
I stumble.
I'm choking me.

But I survive.

A louse.