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.