Fed up with blood, tinnitus, jokes
I didn't even think about the new routes tomorrow.
And after breakfast, it's awkward to have a cigarette first
During the day, squeezing the veins with your fingers
Without hiding or revealing the extreme, I can
Melt away with the last snow for your sake
I forgot how to fly, I stopped being the wind
I believed in different things, but I only got there once
She made up fantasies about our native double bed.
And I was counting the minutes until we parted again for the day.
And I didn't want everything to fly fast.
I was bored and worried at night
I didn't sleep, I didn't talk, I didn't cough into the wall
He kept it to himself. Cheating on everyone but her
Attention to the posts and notes in the notebook in the margins
And again my fingers ache in the cold, I compose syllables.
Or I'm decomposing myself, I don't know, it's too late.
There's no way to re-sound or put subtitles on
At the bottom of the screen. And I scroll through all the albums in advance.
But they're empty inside, filled to zero percent.
With an accent from Odessa, poems by St. Petersburg poets
And stuttering, and stuttering, and the air in the throat waits out the cold
Ready breakfast at seven in the morning, and staying up to sleep
To the lonely one in the front door