Sign.

As embers turn into dust,
And thoughtful turns into rust,
I've breathed too many ways,
Year 20. Please cancel the days.

Sitting still on the same roof.
No sign of stars, I'm shining aloof.
The breath that was taken away,
Took a whole world,
Without a place for me to stay.

Intruder.

I'm irritated.
And I cannot grasp - why.
All I see is intruder in my space,
That I want to stand by.
An alien creature from a place,
That's far away, of an opposite race.
All I feel is anger.
I want to crush the glass.
I want to throw it at the wall,
And see how pieces of it fall,
Just like how scattered is my mind,
When I lack the understanding,
Am I faced and talked to
Or am I placed aside.

I am but a monster.

In this mist unveiling,
Through the hole in momentous feeling,
I am but a monster.
And time is my grave and my ceiling,
There is nothing the past can save,
There's so little the heart finds appealing.
And yet closer to candles I fade,
And last boat is already leaving.
In the sea of infinite feeling,
I am but a drowner,
And nothing is saved.
In this mist faunt and unveiling,
I confess,
My mind has misbehaved...

 

Growth.

In this breathing wind of cold,

She stood still, waiting for the fate to unfold,

Where the fear and dungeon's carpet lies,

Where the breath of freedom and the kindness dies.

-"Don't leave me here. I'm yet a trembling sprout of life."

-"It's what you need. You're a wolf, you will survive."

Псевдо-любовь.

Ставишь счастливые пикчи,
Ставишь счастливые пикчи, блядь.
Когда с девушкой стоишь и улыбаешься,
Но ведь завтра, завтра ты пойдёшь с другою спать.
Кого-то может и любишь, но трахать больше, чем ждать,
Потом уйдёшь ты на вечер, а может в пятницу опять,
Да, может кого-то ты любишь,
Но больше "в душу" срать.
Слова изувечены ложью,
Ведь любишь ты только себя.
Других лишь частично своими звать
Ты будешь частично любя.

The darkness within.

Under the devious plants

I desire your skin.

Claws like thorns of the rose,

Digged in the darkness within.

I crave for the fire of your ashy sins,

For the love that like godlike mastery grins.

And in this hour of mystery going down grim,

Cease the desire, a willful whim,

Digged deep in the darkness in the sea I swim

Of black substance that captures my body with fingers slim.

In the moonlight that shines upon this faithless hour of colours dim,

While the poem is cited by night in a lyrical timeless verbatim.

And the crust under bare, fragile feet of white, folded, volatile sanity,

Will leave prints in the darkness of inner void and untold, reckless vanity.

The substance that touches your neck, caressing the wishes and taking a further step,

Into following utter unreason, the whispered words of the ashes and black blue sky,

The eternity into the grave of the act of the shadows and moors, telling a careless lie,

Speeches of passionate blood of the Sun and the Moon, of eternity and time that passes by.

And every diminutive inch of the hunger and thirst for that there is desire prodigious of all.

I desire your soul like the Devil.

Claws like thorns of the rose, into the darkness I'll fall.

Yeah, fuck. (Obviously explicit.)

You can't pay me, baby
To be a human out of all the differences,
Think about the consequences,
When you take outside the gun,
Ruined the party, you ruined the fun.

You can't make me, baby,
To take for motherfucking instance
The causal link of your own protection
In keeping the distance.

I'm on my way to cheer,
To fuck things up.
In my own bloody car I ride like it was stolen
Damn pretty wild. And I ain't gonna stop.

На мели.

Никого, блять, нет,

И не цепляет в ответ.
Чувства помяли,
Вот весь секрет.
Кто-то в углу пьёт до зари,
Кого-то трахают,
Но мы все пьяны. Мы все на мели.
Постель не забудь застелить,
Не оставляй свои дряньи следы.
Сердца чужи прострели,
Чтобы легче было забыть.

Песня Хельи.

Воротит меня от лести
От продажных шлюх без чести,
Горит во мне то пламя,
Несу в душе я знамя,
И в поход иду
Нести свою игру.
И по правилам своим,
Я глотки перережу - двоим, может - троим,
И буду я вести, во имя чести
Своим я пламенем горю, во имя мести,
Будь может обрету покой душевный я,
Но пламя - навсегда.
Горит моя мечта.

Сверкают крыши поздних городов,
Где я нажила пополну врагов,
Но я никогда не отступлюсь от силы своих снов,
Что велели мне пойти искать даров,
Чтоб освободить от казни свой народ,
Чтобы вырезать в конец,
Монарх - сжигал ты нас, теперь уже - мертвец.

И по правилам своим,
Я глотки перережу - двоим, может - троим,
И буду я вести, во имя чести
Своим я пламенем горю, во имя мести,
Будь может обрету покой душевный я,
Но пламя - навсегда.
Горит моя мечта.

Час.

Никому не верить,
Никого не любить,
Просто тихо уйти в себя,
Вырезать всё и забыть.

Никого не касаться,
Ничего не желать.
Машинально в кресле шататься,
И даже час свой не ждать.

Мысль понемногу сжирает,
Автоматика гонит во тьму,
Зажигалку и сигарету,
Я в пальцах своих зажму.

Зажгу я огонёк.
В дали в домах он светит тоже.
Но в сердце никого я видеть не желаю.
Придёшь на порог - получишь по роже.

Если.

Если тебя били часто,
Не будешь улыбаться и смотреть,
Как и других там побивают властно,
Заставляют душу чёрну лицезреть.

Если не любили часто,
Будешь ли ты сам любить?
С синяками так напрасно
Идти с битой и также жизнь другим гнобить.

Если плачешь ты по вечерам,
Думая, что так бывает туго,
То знай, что кто-то бы отдал своё тепло,
Чтоб получить взамен верного друга.

Да приласкать от всего зла,
Уйти от одиночества недуга.
Объединиться вдоль дорог,
Не так длинна ведь жизнь,
Чтоб одному все ноги протереть в пути,
Пройдя весь одинокий срок.
И ведь в итоге извлечем один урок,
Поднимаемся с колен
Идём на волевой восток,
С надеждой не гремя,
Но зная - идём туда мы навсегда.

Киноленты.

В листву я упала,
В чёрно-белые мечты,
Как в киноленту раскрутившуюсь
Я закрутилась в сон,
И вроде всё в тепле,
Но почему-то грустен он.
Положил он трубку,
Снял со стенки телефон,
Завернулся в плед,
Киноленты монохромной тон.
И уснул и не сказал.
Во сколько же будильник должен прозвенеть,
Но зачем же он, так глупо ведь, -
Для сердца знать, вовремя не успеть.
И будут эти киноленты
Подобно листьям серым тлеть.
Ведь надо же сценарий бледноликий,
Читать, но писать и не уметь.
И некуда же ручку потемневшую,
С бумагой порваной и деть.
Ведь все мы киноленты,
Где-то крутится спокойно,
А куда-то можем не успеть.

Lakes and mountains,
Endless fields and sapphire skies,
Yet still nothing is bluer
Than the cornflower eyes.

Tinder.

We used to spread love,
But then we spread hate
We used to spread love,
But then we spread hate,
We used to spread love,
But then we spread hate

And around and around
We stupidly date.

In a useless demeanor
We stupidly date.
We run from ourselves.
We stupidly date.
We run from ourselves.
We stupidly date.
We run from ourselves.
Until we all hate.

Gundega.

Esmu gundega, dzeltena puķe,

Saulaina, kvēla un pretīga skuķe.

Lienu, kur vēlos.

Zālē es eju,

Staigāju viena ar smaidīgu seju.

Smile, you're the same.

People think that the different ones in this century

Are not oppressed.

People think that if you're quiet and smile,

You're happy and not depressed.

When you walk outside, dressed nice,

You're beautiful. It's not a disguise.

Of how you actually feel.

That you're barely keeping things with your family,

That doesn't really like you, nor cares about things you feel.

Like a Stockholm syndrome, but not a diagnose.

"You are just different, you don't need a dose."

You walk those streets smiling,

But you just feel numb.

Yet you show that emoji of a thumb.

It's all fine, all nice, sugar and spice.

Unaccepted for how you really are,

Forever a weirdo in a disguise.

Go on - throw a dice,

How today will be sunny and nice.

Pretty Baby.|Explicit.

You all are fuckin ridiculous,
And I'm not afraid to say it.
Put those stockings on
And play it.
Cause I am a woman, I'm supposed to
Fuckin sit.
My mouth shut, Imma fancy dog on chain.
I'm so damn lit.
My fur is shinin',
All them boys likin'
Their cowgirl is so strikin'.
Smokin' hot
Black heels, no feels.
Smell my Playboy fragrance
Called "Sex'n'appeals".
An affair or two,
I'm your pretty Mary Sue.
Girl of dreams.
Of thighs and chest,
The costume seams are put to rest.
They crackin',
Cause I'm damn best.
Don't need to put me on to test.
I'll take yo' money, bake the rest,
Into my million dollar breast.
My fire on, boys passin' by,
Mind like a dirty little fly.
I'm so damn lit, mouth shut, perfection!
I'll be your sweetest cherry pie,
Sell me your shit affection.

The hunter. (Sinner city). | Explicit.

Who the fuck cares,
If I'm decent or indecent,
Kind or unkind.
The backbiters will stab,
Some people are blind.
And yet love is so hard to find,
They say, but
They know nothing.
And the words they say are cutting.
Protective and festive they walk down the street,
And yet with no reason to stay on their feet.
We walk and we talk, the reason to fuck,
But all of those days, matched in hell
They all suck.
Just like sheets, minds of sheep,
And nothing in the oceans going deep,
The mind talking crap,
Sit on my lap,
While I'll grab out my cock and I'll fap.
Cause I like it, when there is what to tap.
I'm a whole golden fatpoint on the map of my city,
And there's nobody out there I could pity.
All shiny and brave, we go for the fame,
The sinners of city that no one can tame,
Playing ourselves. That's our shitty game.
Gonna call my momma and say she's to blame.
Imma fuckboy. And they'll know my name.

The selkie. (It's so much more.)

I am the writer
Of my life
And of all those things,
By eye you can't find.
The grass greener than real,
The sea with a selkie seal,
The castles and rocks,
Without heavy locks.
Skies blue as they could be,
Autumns rich in colours and so beautiful,
As you could see
A trubadour writing a song,
Yet something... completely wrong.
The beauty is there and so is the might,
Yet something is missing so much, I can't fight...

I can't find.

Yet I can feel you at times.
You may not read my messages,
But I wish you came here tonight.

But you know what?
Fuck my morals.
Fuck my mind.
Just tell me, tell me, if I was that blind.
If that all was a joke,
Just tell me,
If I'm out of my mind.
That I saw all those things.
Did I know where this brings?
I didn't. Yet maybe I did.
So instead of staying in my comfort zone,
Instead,
I went for you.
And I'd go again and again.
Even if the whole world would tell me I'm mad.
Because I know that I'm not.
I know what I saw. And I stay by it.
I'm not driven by my fear,
And maybe I'm fucking proud.
And I would say out goddamn loud...
In front of everyone
And humiliate myself -
I would, whatever I could,
To keep you.
Is it really that mad?
That the true love is the one I found
And yet I have to seek you out?
How proud have you been
In your whole goddamn life?
When there is given the truth to you
And you pretend to be
Fucking blind.
Hiding from me,
As if I was the threat,
How high are you in your mind for yourself,
Watching from aside, in the shadows you can surely hide,
While I'm suffering,
Me - you,
When there was another choice,
To reach further for what's true,
What a way to deny what you feel,
When we both each other should heal.
For what's true, for what's real.
No written castles, no seals.
No green grasses, blue skies.
No meadow butterflies.
Yet the divine. Unwritten.
Yet true for only the feeling to see.
The light that was meant there to be.

I stand at the shore.
Silent. With the deepest wish.
Of all those roads... please, help me to find.
The love... isn't the right word, it's so much more.
As a selkie in the starlit sea,
My heart swims to you,

Will yours swim to me?




*selkie - a female shapeshifer into a seal from folklore, not meant here as it's original meaning, but rather meant here as a romanticized concept of willing to shapeshift to be able to cross the sea;

The dance.

Making steps in the sun-warmed sand, the hair flows in the wind along with the rhythm... The beat is only of my heart and it gives enough to this whirlwind dance in this lonely place, where few snakes rattle hiding in sun-dried corners. None of the flowers stand alive. And I imitate their bloom in the heartless sun that burned it all. In only a barely see-through long red dress enfolding my body from a light fabric that dances along with my movements, like a rose blooming in a mysterious red flame that is hidden and turns around, creating sparkles. The naked body feels the flow of the fabric along the lines. Primitive tingling sensation down the spine. Create me. Create the dance. Touch the side shape of the body. A light flow of the fingers down the strings, barely touching, yet making a sound. Gasp. Breathe in the air in this heat, grasp for the water to enrich your soul, craving for each drop in this deserted land, crawling on your knees. Yet the fingers still remain on the side - the silky sensation, carefully sliding down the hip. What is this feel, this dance on hot coals barefoot, as if it was made of thorns yet remaining so soft... as the lips were made of gentlest rose petals. And the touch... So explicit. Place both hands along the sides. The inviting warmth heats up as the wind blows through the fear and it turns into passion. Spark a flame and burn. As it blooms into the whirlwind dance on the sun-warmed sand. Such a bashful feeling. Truly erotic. Not the simplicity, but the complexity. The sophistication. It's not vulgar. It's beautiful. As it's true passion. True feelings expressed in fervid flames of an efflorescent fire of the dance.

My blood is my fire,
I swing into my light.
The ancient rhythm in my soul and mind,
Starts the path of might.

My heart is my fire
And therefore is my fright,
I break the sticks with hands
Throw and lit it bright.
So might this bonfire shine
Bright as ever through the night.

The lighthouse.

The weather breathes through me,
Through the hair, through the lungs, to the sea,
The wind breathes to the other side,
But I wish it breathed me.
So I'd sail to the city for free.
To the city of lights,
Of candle lit nights...
Yet I wish it was only for me.
Like my light inside that you see,
It's limited.
And somewhere away there's a lighthouse,
Please, bring me there,
To your lighthouse
To be.
And I wish wind breathed you to the shore of me.
Two lighthouses guided as one,
In the sail of the endless sea.

Look.

Look at the sky more often,
Look upon the starry absorbing shore,
So you can explore, soften your sight and widen the door.

Look at the universe.

Because we are so much more...

The Moon and the Stars.

Touches, being close,
Yes, you have power of those.
It is the close distance,
Not like if I wanted to live by the next bus stop,
To meet your existance.

Not like if I wanted to see the same Moon as you do,
To stare at stars like if they were you,
The night sky
And the colours blue.

Like if I wanted to take your hand,
And walk the same street,
For you to understand, that I am no threat.
That I am no bad. That I want you to be happy, not sad.

If I wanted to dance in the rain,
But tell you to run home, make some tea in the north lane,
To cuddle close and change the clothes under the blanket, see,
I want you to be warm, to love and comfort endlessly.

I want to keep you close,
There are no miles to heart,
Do you see the sparkling stars, as they were in the eyes, seeing you from the start?
When I feel you near, there's no doubt - I can't disappear,
You're my only one, I'm here... and I will erase your fear.

Trip.

It feels so free and so crazy.
It gives me life,
When it's not there

And when I look into my eyes,
In the mirror,
All I see is nobody there at
To stare

Before my consciousness left,
Eyes tried to see,
What I wanted so much there to be

What I lacked and what I missed,
Those things,
That weren't in the life for me

What else could do the favor to,
Make me forget the problems,
Leave me with no clue

Drugs, alcohol.
Pills, razors, glue.
What did I see, what's in my soul.
What captured me that through

Was it the need for living feeling?
Was it the need for some more time?
Or was it someone I was lacking,
Forever to be only mine?

What's life for others,
Were the drugs for me.
All that had sounded in my head:
I never was. I never am. And I will never be.

And sun will capture me in head,
Hallucinating, pretending to be dead

But who was there to be with me?
When I was lost. But truly free.

Was that the happiness to be?
Was that what I should do, it's me?
And every question in my head,
Had answer -

Baby,
You are dead.

(Made approximately in May 2017., posted first in June 7, 2017 on facebook, but never got here. It has a deep meaning and theme - drugs&alcoholism. Let me get this straight - I have never used drugs myself or had problems with alcohol, but my empathy and my experience seeing close people like that is the thing that leads to this movement against drug using. This photoset is basically portraying in slightly different way the thoughts of a person who used drugs. And the lethal outcome.
The most important message to learn is - you are important and you are unique to Earth and to yourself. Stay alive.)
...
Photographer: Dezembers Photography (facebook)
Model&edit: me.

The Surface.

Maybe we like the skyscrapers, because they reflect. They are like mirrors of the sky and surroundings. The materialistic things that are created to make us work and forget about the surroundings, yet reflecting them and reminding about the natural beauty around us. It always leads to what is natural and beautiful. To the blue sky in the daylight and the evening red colours covering the skyline. It's never the same thing, but it makes us feel the inner connection to nature.

The sky is fascinating. What if people travel to be there for at least some time, up in the sky and to have the feel that all of their problems are on the surface, left on the Earth? It's an interesting concept, yet a wrong one. There are too many of the interconnections for us to be left out of things we encounter on the surface, because wherever we are, we are on it. We are on the surface.

The Surface itself is the whole. It is the earth, the air, the sky, the water, everything else surrounding. The Nature. The Space. It is our surface. And we doubtfully ever leave it. Our souls, the thing within us, it never leaves "The Surface". We are spiraling in it, depending on our deeds in one life or another. Even if in our thoughts we are gone somewhere, it never changes the factual part. It doesn't matter that we don't believe in existance of "The Surface", because it is of higher state than anything. It is the Cosmic idea. The interconnective space, the informational web, as complicated as we could and could not even imagine. And nevermind if someone doesn't believe it. The Surface "doesn't care about you believing it or not". It is out there and it has its stuff and it functions. Functions as something least understandable to materialistic human mind. Functions and people get the parts of the whole idea. The details.

When human mind catches the ideas of "The Surface", it is the progressive state of spirituality. The spirituality is the inner state of human being. Depending on who has more of it and who - less, percentually. And the idea of it is spread all around in religions, in sacred writings there always is that part, where "soul rises in the spiral up". That's the spiritual growth. And each one, who encounters it, becomes more healthy. Because the inner part is interconnected with the outer part. The inner state with outer state. It is always interconnected. And the beings cannot deny the spiritual part, in order to grow, there have to be all the parts functioning.

The pure, the tainted.

The materialism. The glory of it. There is one thing I will never understand: many of the people are placing posts of "how much someone loves them and comparing with the flowers and gifts like with dicks - who's got a bigger one". And this is dedicated to them.

Sorry not sorry. Materialism over 9000 on this and some other days is disgusting and some people thrive in it like in a big ol' mess of dirt.

It doesn't matter, if someone gives something so great in material. Everything that matters is what soul the gift and what motivation it has. It can be a pleated textile bracelet and I would be fucking happy about it. Because it says "I care", "I tried to make this for you".

It is so important about the details. Flowers from the shop? Expensive gifts with no soul and not much thought to it? No... that's not love.

The meaning. The symbolism. The motivation - why.

One will be happy for a flower from a yard with actual warmth and meaning, from someone meaningful to them.

The other one won't be happy enough about 100 roses from the most expensive shop.

And it despises me. That aspect of such materiality.

As if some might think that I am just hurt - yes, I am, even more - I am actually disgusted about materialism without the soulful aspect, I see it almost everyday. 

Which one - the money or the person?

Some people are fucking for money without love.

On what's hidden.

Morning, 10 o'clock, And I'm in my own block, Of self-regret alone in thoughts, Spilling coffee in a cup, Adding two of sugar spoons, Maybe I'll feel better by the afternoons, But right now I am in the thoughts, A division of myself - From the other people And my own shelf. That I hide and never really show. And all this keeps within - And I'm thinking how to deal with it - And where my thought process should go. So much to oneself, so closed. What are other people, when all they did - Was - they opposed. Rarely showing deepest thoughts, Having constant trust-based doubts. I'm not a people person, never was. An introvert with feelings stuck within. I am appearing with a smile, polite... But inner hidden side is hurt and grim. And sometimes, trying to find new people, On the internet, because I rarely go somewhere, I'm throwing myself in, Trying a conversation, Regretting a detail within Every important sensation. In many talks, it comes to regret. "You are too critical, Too confrontational". When I think I'm the one, Who made me like that, When my therapist actually says - "You're too polite, too reserved, You need to learn to express your emotions away, Your self-control is too much, but sensational! Have you actually thought, That it was not you, Who made yourself feel that regret To think that you're rude? Have you actually thought, That the people you've dealt with, They made you to think that, Because that was their view, On things how you said it. To project from one's side, So much people do, Whatever you say - "That must be rude, so impolite!" And that is not true. You are not aggressive and you don't seem rude." And that's how it goes in life. Listen more to immaturity, And you can forget - once and for all, About the realness of you. And your self-image purity.

...

I do not want people,
Who destroy the ground.
Who make my birds fly away,
Who leave with no sound.


I do not want people,
Who don't want to stay,
These moments are cracking the ground,
And the pain stays inside, it does not fade away.

Лица.

Боль и страх проснулись вновь.

Закипела твоя кровь.

В серых, тихих небесах,

Защимился свет в устах.

Не сказавших ни о боли,

Ни о слабости, о мгле,

А молчания полных, в поле,

Скрытом от других во тьме.

Тьма ль ясна, казалась болью,

Тьма ль? Бойцовский, бурый свет?

"Правда" истину застала,

"Правда" вновь сказала - нет.

И закончив стару басню,

Можно выключить огонь.

И поникши, я шагаю,

Видя лица - вновь и вновь...