в этом доме когда-то дышали
пили и ели

в этом доме смеялись и много шутили
в этом доме всегда крепко спали
потому что любые печали превращались в долгие штили

if a man is an island
the best thing you can hear from him is

"I lend you my ear"

and though it doesn't mean he will listen

even at a mere distance of 10 sm away

it's already too much to ask from an island,

isn't it?

in a room, lit

by a poor candle

it's no longer a secret, 

that the game is not even worth one

it is no longer a mystery

that in the Long-Run we are all dead

well

some may say that's too bad

sure it is, honey,

it sure is

just make sure

you don't miss

a promise

The hand, which i withdrew from yours,

is still burning

i once promised to always keep my feet and never cease going

Shame on me! i was never a keeper

even to my own words

the deeper you dive into me, the stronger i feel all

sorts of ache: 

in my head - dull and prolonged

in my heart - sharp and sincere

i'm aching for you to be here and for this bitterness to become real

i'll sing you the most calming lullaby and go out of sight

you no longer have to prove that our partition

is not the thing i should fear

i'm afraid

'cause even the thought of you makes me stutter

when i want to start something new

though you're neither a true foe,

nor a true friend

you're an agony that's making me bend down

you're a fright that's making me bound up in my misery

only to put me out of it

the poem of a loss  |  поэма утраты

Я решаю не больше, чем ребёнок в утробе

у матери, жадно выкуривающей сигарету

от тех, кого я называла друзьями, осталось лишь их подобие

моё главное хобби – вычерчивать по трафарету

Своей памяти тех, что ушли, и не вернутся обратно

как ты их ни упрашивай и ни проси

словно бы я взяла друзей на прокат, но 

время пришло, и пора возвращать долги