Утро После (СИ)

2017

Not a word

The ears - the noise.

The eyes - the tears.

The mouth - the kiss.

The heart - the hurt.

Do you think I hit the brakes?

But I wear nothing under my skirt.

The demon told - "no lingerie".

The thunder beat against the roof.

The ears - the noise. Well, eye to eye.

Who of us was kept aloof?

How did this one forget?

How did the deep wound mend?

Do you think I hit the brakes?

I rip off my cross again!

The heart of ashes. The grave of words.

Your head inclines to me in a bow.

And your forehead beats on stone.

And so bloody is the snow.

My posture now is so straight.

Do you remember me in woe?

I see, you hope, I want to speak.

No. I `ll never breathe a word.

2017

I need a friend to understand

I need a friend to understand,

Not to protect, not to defend,

Who will forbid me to pretend,

Who will explain the things like that.

I need the truth to burn my head,

To make me groan, to make me hate,

To make me laugh, to make me cry,

To let me live and make me die.

I need the night to hide the eyes.

I need no warmth not to despise.

I need no changes to go on.

Just for forgiveness I am strong.

But at the truth I'm ill at once.

The mercy teaches to despise.

I damn the circumstance

You've made. Am I nobody to create?

Am I so weak just to decide?

I follow what they had designed.

What for I play their bitter roles?

The will is meek to act my own.

2016

The Subway

Let`s just meet and sit in cafe,

Let`s listen to the chime of forks.

Let`s move to subway, feeling shyness.

Let`s listen to the clock tic - toc.

You will uncover that I love you...

And I will see that I am your hunger,

That you have caught me like a flu.

The earth will go out from under.

And while the laughter we`ll fall silent.

We`ll separate at the bus stop.

And you`ll decide: "She is not mine".

And I`ll accept: "He is so cold".

2017

The Broken Glass

I looked at world through the broken glass

And could not understand why it's so cracked.

My heart was made of cool and chilling ice,

That's why in spring I am used to going mad.

I looked at you as if I was abused

With sight of your bluish-creamy hands.

You was so tiny, made of solitude

And to my shame you have refused to fade.

I knew your fingers cut with broken glass

I knew the reasons for you to be so cracked.

I never tried to love. I just despised.

And made you so fragile and deeply sad.

I saw the world but I failed to feel.

You felt the core and never tried to hide.

I locked the door, but could not conceal

The keyhole from your disclosing mind.

2016

The Wine

Drinking wine,I tried to smile.

I'm never yours,You're never mine.

Just silence makes us understand

Those crazy things we can't pretend....

2015

Feel Nothing

The suffocation makes me speak

With no conjunctions.

The pain will soothe,

The wounds will heal

My self-destruction.

No more I cry,

No more I bleed.

Just pale a little.

I am so safe,

As no more words

In vain are hissing.

I am so free.

I am alive.

Don't tell me something!

The fire dies,

As water cries,

And makes feel nothing.

2015

Prose

His gaze is floured with soda. His words are like smoke of the cigarettes. His lips are dry and spicy - like cinnamon.

The Sketchers - Cycle

I.

Once you gave me the wings. Ginger-red and very light, they were sparkling under the sunrays like the golden sand.

Woken up early in the morning and willing to drink some orange juice, I`ve been spreading them on the way to the kitchen. Then, being already winged, I stood barefoot on the cool balcony tile and welcomed frisky dawn of the hot, great Sun.

***

I didn`t want to sleep that evening. And exhausted by thinking about the eventualities, I`ve decided to dial your number.

-Hulloa?!

- Hi!

- Agnia? I am a little bit busy. Call me back tomorrow, please.

- I`m sorry, I don`t think I would. Battery is dying.

- But you are at home. Just charge it!

- You are at home too - in the kitchen, I suppose. And it is rather late for any plans...

- I love you, Agnia. I really have to go.

I looked at my watch. It was a half past eleven, practically midnight. Stars - in the sky.

I got up; reached to the mirror, put the skin foundation. I was debating for some time between caramel and cowberry-red lipstick. Finally, I chose the caramel one. I rimmed my eyes with eyeliner. I put on the powdery-colored warm dress and full-fashioned stockings. I slipped into my coat. Ginger wings behind my back longingly shuddered.

The street was empty. I felt like a heroine of some beautiful French movie. I felt like champagne trapped in the bottle. I wanted to play. To play on the lips, heating the blood. You gave me my ginger-red wings and you were likely to leave my life. But I had the wings. You could not take them back...

With a bland smile on my face, I came to your house. I raised my head, looking at the windows, and saw the gorgeous female silhouette in your window. It was such a bittersweet feeling.

I wanted to be with both of you. I wanted to intervene or to assist, to paint you, to ink over your shadows on the walls, to accentuate the lips colour, and hardness of her nipples.

I wrapped myself tighter in the coat...

II.

Her name was Joan. She had thickly green eyes, the colour of the absinthe. She liked black and burgundy clothes. She had smooth dark hair, which had been always gathered up into a bun. She was very composed.

Joan liked organ music. She wanted to be a woman since her childhood: to be sophisticated, experienced woman with sensual mouth frowns and profound frown lines between eyebrows. Her lipstick was of the plum colour. Nails were sharp and red. Rings aimed to tear the black veil of tights, when she tightly fitted her bronzed calves.