It’s morning. I woke up. It’s hatefully grey.
I’d close my eyes and go back to sleep.
Thoughts wander around me like chimeras
And weave their nets from all sides of me.

I think I’ll make one of them just a reality:
I’ll make some coffee, there’s no other way.
The day won’t work out without coffee.
And there’ll be a mess in my head anyway.

I’m up. What a nebulous nasty morning.
It shamelessly drives me crazy at all.
And why did I suddenly feel wholly
That I know all about myself?
What a fool?

What a phenomenal wacky silliness!
What a criminal irrational nonsense!
I thought that tomorrow is really fatal
As it was in the same way for years.

And what is in point of fact?
Where’s tomorrow?
All colors around me are totally dim.
I try to find my previous strong energy,
But only monotony is all-around me.

It was so simple yesterday, but now it’s ugly.
My coffee’s sneezing. It’s got a cold.
Well, I’ll go to live just like that, don’t look behind.
And I will live as long as I can, with no support.

I stand in front of you, stunt, sickly.
My eyes are rayless, my skin is weakly.
No sign of joy or peg to life.
I'm tangled in whole in a net of lies.

I don't cry, but tears are all around.
It's like a life circle for me is shut down.
I don't scream - no strength, no strife.
It's like a mouse has gnawed of all my life.

I stand in front of you, disheveled.
I'm like a book, thumbed through, bedevilled.
And there's no use or purpose in it.
Her place is on the far shelf indeed.

I stand in front of you as I am right now.
Don't drive me away from you, put up with somehow.
I've no strength, no faith, no meaning, no purpose.
Leave me a pinch of love at least, with no pose.

And if all words
aren't enough to describe
how much I love you.
I'd use my blood as an ink to this pen.
For you to know,
that even if I have nothing to write.
The poetry written
within me,
is you.