"I Think I Am in Friend-Love with You"
Published in Sadie Magazine. 








"I Think I Am in Friend-Love with You"

Published in Sadie Magazine


The house is on fire. 
My blender is on 2. 
Your blender is on 7. 
And I’ve just seen the film, 
Where it’s about 11. 
I thought that I just loved 
The way they’ve described 
This normal standard heaven. 
But pardon me, without words 
It’s so relevant , 
Because nobody noticed yet 
That they are all inside the heads 
Of brothers, sisters and 
Perhaps, ourselves. 
Cannot it be for real?

Moscow, 27.06.2013

What if the girl is not a girl 
And boy is actually not a boy 
And all the cocktails are so done. 
We are just toys 
We are just toys.

What if the love is not so love 
And burn is not a burn.(But it burns.) 
Officially we were destroyed. 
We are just toys. 
We are just toys.

What if the touch is not some love 
What if I never be annoyed. 
And in my twenties I just sign: 
Employ me please. I am just done.

We are just toys 
We are just toys.

Moscow, 09.06.2013

Pocket Asylum. Portrait 3. Shadow Ainsel

Dear baby Shadow, 
I’m so sorry, that you wife has died. 
I put some lilacs on her grave, 
You know, what it means? 
There will be no fight.New Gods have won, I am so sorry. 
Without fire, losses, battle. 
But, please, don’t worry.We’ll take some clothes, food and cattle 
And find us another place, 
Another blooming country, 
Where will be bo porn, backstabbers and expensive gold. 
There will be justice, love and grace, 
And life will never be a coin trick. 
The mead will be as sweet as blood, 
And no hesitation on ” to drink or not?” 
Just blink, blink, blink,
And you are out.

Несвоевременный внебрачный стих

Алые плоды шершаво касаются нёба.
Липкий сок сливается в ямочку на подбородке.
Мне кажется или я дома?
Под покрывалом в темноте питаюсь вязким стоном из коробки.
Мне кажется или я продрогла от скуки и сюжета постановки,
Той самой ненавязчиво холодной,
Той самой, что хранится под пологом той кровати,
Где так и не попробую
Те ягоды, что собраны недавно,
В саду, заросшем от фонтана до порога?
Москва, 15.05.2013

Pocket Asylum. Portrait 2. Transy Parent

She looks like mica, 
Substituting plastic in my glasses. 
Why on the Earth, she is making it clear? 
And lustre? And vivid? 
Outside all the clauses? 
She won’t be beliveable without my fear. 
She speaks into nowhere, 
She speaks so loud. 
Please, beg you, 
Take a pity on me and 
Do not interfere these despicable pauses. 
I’ll love her, 
I’ll beg her, 
I’ll let even go, 
If somebody helps me to make it just lossless. 
I’ll love you, 
I’ll beg you, 
I’ll let even go, 
If you do not have fear towards her damned translucence. 
13.04.2013, Moscow

Pocket Asylum. Portrait 1. Dignity Fosters

Something stucked in my mouth. 
What is it? Do you see it? 
It tastes sweet, sour and bitter, 
Like your ignorance. 
How did I know this? 
Like your arrogance. 
From my hair pins. 
Like my importance. 
Scratching your throat. 
Like her elegance. 
While I float somewhere 
Like our patience. 
Deep inside your ventriculus. 
Like my hindrance. 
Is it still there? 
It’s not serious. 
Now and forever more.

04.04.2013, Moscow