The illusory hope of spiritual death, the real possibility of becoming one with...

In my head, like a distant but intrusive background, the same line is repeated: “...now it takes him all just to get an...”
...To hell.

Full version ONE WHOLE https://dzen.ru/a/YDXmzHVu6zHw8DY1 on the Zen blog https://dzen.ru/shipshard

Melody of despair and hopelessness publish0x: https://www.publish0x.com/professional-videoproduction/melodies-of-despair-and-hopelessness-xkeklvp

Zen: https://dzen.ru/a/YDgkF_5a736xftj-

Video preview here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ami_EcUvwV0

Announcement on Zen here https://dzen.ru/video/watch/602b8df120b7ca228dedfb37

Thanks to Fenix Li for the videos, drawings and inspiration.
Violetta Wennman - YouTube, Tik Tok Girls for posting the video.
My most sincere thanks to the reader. Thank you.

Attention! This is machine translation. For this reason, there are errors in the translation. The author does not have enough experience to translate the poetic form.
The original publication of the Melody of despair and hopelessness https://dzen.ru/a/YDgkF_5a736xftj- in the Zen blog https://dzen.ru/shipshard
Full version - story and poems ONE WHOLE - https://dzen.ru/media/shipshard/edinoe-celoe-6035e6cc756eeb31f0f03635

Thanks to Sigmund Freud, Jaspers, Nietzsche and Aristotle

Attention! This is machine translation. Sorry

PART 1. One Whole.
The illusory hope of spiritual death, the real opportunity to become one with...

1. I.

In my head, like a distant but intrusive background, the same line is repeated: “...now it takes him all just to get an...”
...To hell.

She is nearby, elementary and immediate, as something eternal and self-evident, to which you do not need to make any effort, who she is, why she is here... do you really need to know more? a day of ridiculous questions... they look like flickering fleeting flashes, it’s convenient to cling to them with your gaze, and then slowly slide into free fall when they are compared with the background of emptiness. Have you ever tried to think about her outside of protective labels? Will she be around? Always? ...Maybe. Boring questions, boring answers. I let them go without even waiting for them to go out. You again tried to make out this terrible word syllable by syllable. It is no longer dangerous, the poisoned blood from these letters has already coagulated in you. Love? I don’t remember when I pronounced this word for its intended purpose. Where does so much crap come from? It stinks of any puny attempt to feel the real taste of a related body, not like Realize #love. How nauseatingly jarring is the invented term for what has become a replicated convenient toy that can be received as a gift, bought, exchanged, thrown away, killed, but it’s just impossible to get rid of the habit of raising the ashes of this concept scattered to the wind by calling out its name.

Too much is possible, too much has already been achieved, but for others, I only feel the pressure of the day smearing under the wheels of the van, it is so short that I cannot see how the sun sets...
When will it end...

You are God, you know it, yes. Someone tells you this every day, but their faces merge with your irritation. Everything is burdensome. I want more. More faces that I despise, more bodies... again spinning into reality "...now it takes him...".
Is this my new mantra?

I love her... when I feel bad. Good and bad have now become a single whole, even more than just synonyms, I don’t know what they mean, they are nothing to me. Eyes, they are constantly looking for a set of familiar shades. Her moods, her caresses, her sadness, her touch, her cool lips. She herself probably doesn’t pay attention to how this whole range of nuances changes. Do you really notice such things? They, like billions of grains of sand, get stuck deeply and plague your consciousness with frayed roughness, and during delirium they turn into the caterpillars of a tractor that crumples and crushes the white sheet of consciousness even before incomprehensible symbols appear on it. Is this getting close? Or are you already dead?

Why does she have blond hair... You know, but if you allow yourself to tell yourself even in a whisper, you will kill yourself... no, you won’t kill yourself, on the memorial of your consciousness you can read that you cannot kill what has become emptiness. Yes, I’m dead, even now, when I want her, I want to hurt her, I want to become One with her, I want to implant in myself this light that is fatal to me, her life, which tears my brain into pieces, I want to burn everything out with this flame buried inanimate ruins, I want to feel, I want to crush all the pain in my hands until its fossilized remains of nerve endings come to life again, I want to watch how the world collapses, shrinks to a particle of nothingness in which there is no me, there is nothing but deliverance.

It's too hot a day, too little taken, since there's still room for this crap. She sits down on her knees again, and a hypnotic, mocking, already hopeless voice flashes through her head. She has a heart... I am her punishment... which means she couldn’t either... it doesn’t matter when her hands, her lips slide in the hope of ridding me of pain. Which doesn't exist. Let the whole world go to hell. I will die constantly, without losing hope of prolonging the seconds of imaginary reprisal against my own soul, the seconds when I begin to believe that this is possible.

2. Reflection.

The road again... between two gray cities, between the abyss, on one side of which is your genius, and on the other - insignificance, between the coolness of the night that awakens your mind and the heat of his body, furiously licking all your desires exposed on autopilot. He now breathes for you, feels for you, he is stronger, he is still able to retell what it is like to nurse dying memories that can no longer be wrapped in screaming wrappers of emotions, he is stronger, your emptiness penetrating into him will not scatter his consciousness to shreds, he will not becomes One with you, he simply dissolves in your illusory hope of spiritual death, imbuing it with anesthesia.
He smiles.

When it seems to you that he will simply die if he does not drag you through the magic of his lips filled with poisonous life energy, you stop thinking that he is crazy.
Just a second... now the autopilot is one for two.
Minute...

The hot slide becomes unbearable... the chaotic pulse is suffocating in attempts to maintain consciousness. The whole world has shrunk to one single point, screaming, crying, rejoicing, convulsing in painful ecstasy, until finally exploding into millions of pseudo-deaths and spilling out billions of pseudo-reborn lives. And you watch indifferently as they strive to fill every corner of the tightly boarded up world with moments of uncontrolled euphoria, desperately unrolling the crumpled space, still twitched by the floating folds of post-orgasm tremors.

Is this your world? Then smear it on the dirty toilet wall and let it flow down it. You didn't die again. You know that you are now smiling through the intermittent breathing of a detached body, you even feel good only because you are too lazy to stretch out your hand to consciousness, you are too lazy to peer through the clouds of smoke in search of yourself, you don’t care how you celebrate another defeat. You just allow yourself to be lifted, he always manages to be stronger.

He... he has dark hair, we look alike... if he asked about us... especially at such moments... I would kill him. Anything, everything can be covered up with the word “fuck”, everyone will go to hell and the whole world will crumble to smithereens, weak or not, as long as you exist, as long as he thinks that you exist, he won’t give a fuck... I I would give anything for this to be true...

He is your Reflection, you looked at him, but did not understand before that you were seeing your monster, which has become so familiar and familiar that it does not frighten you at all, its sharp fangs have pierced through your body and soul so many times that now they click in the void, you are no longer in pain, you are looking for something that can hurt your emptiness, or simply absorb it, this space is unsteady for those around you, so that later it can no longer be filled with anything living, so as not to revive new monsters, so as not to watch how they again again they tear your essence into torn pieces of defenseless feelings, beating in the agony of inevitable reality.

You are him, only still alive, because he still has enough strength to revive pain. You will not be One with him either. Never. If only you are powerless enough to grab his heart, knead it in your hands, choke on blood, pulling out the pin from a sleeping source that can explode everything living inside him, everything that once felt and suffered, and fill this space with emptiness. .. the emptiness of your dead body, only physically dead... And then you will lose the only thing dear and significant, forcing you to open your eyes and breathe for one more second between sleep and imitation of sleep - you will forever lose the illusory hope of spiritual nothingness.

PART 2. Immersion.

One of the main causes of suffering is an illusory feeling of inner emptiness.

First, a person creates an imitation of this emptiness, then, in order for his game of self-rejection to continue, he is forced to create additional illusory support around this illusion in the form of temporary elementals of happiness, with which he fills the emptiness. But is it possible to fill what is a bottomless illusion?

The paradox and the essence of the game is that a person is afraid of the illusion of emptiness he has invented, hides from himself, constantly creating new illusory conditions of happiness, and all this only in order not to take responsibility for accepting himself. He is ready to look for himself anywhere, but not at home, he is ready to sacrifice anything along the way except his ego. The illusion of suffering will continue until the person’s ego gets tired of searching for what it has never lost.

As children, we did not yet live at the mercy of the ego and mind games. A small child, for example, did not have such questions - how can I quickly get enough of playing and lose interest in the sandbox. And growing up, he did not have any regret that he no longer found anything interesting in her, because one period was replaced by another.
...and you can’t get through the door with your precious luggage firmly attached...

We are not ready to let go only of what we have not fully EXPERIENCED.

If we regret what happened or what didn’t happen, if we continue to live with past events, feelings, emotions, then we DIDN’T LIVE them at the time, WE DIDN’T fully experience our past when it was still present for us, and the present the present, if we do not completely give ourselves to it Here and Now, we do not ACCEPT ourselves as we are at this very moment and EXPERIENCE it TO THE END - in the future it will become for us exactly the same unexperienced past. The circle is closed.

A person plays at rejecting himself, this is the reason for his suffering, but he does not want to end the game, because while it lasts and the person suffers, he can hide behind this suffering as a shield, so as not to take responsibility for himself, for his unwillingness alone. face your fears alone...

Without accepting ourselves, without loving ourselves, we cannot accept the world around us and ourselves in it, as part of the universe. We divide ourselves into many selves, and none of these selves lives in the present moment of time, does not experience it!!!
- I am real, and this I am completely unhappy, not what I should really be. Here and Now, in which this I is located, is perceived as “hell”, not “heaven”.
- I am ideal, endowed with all the necessary and desirable qualities, which is placed in an illusory future.
- I, living in the unexperienced past.
- and so on.
The greater the difference between the columns with “pros” and “cons” imagined in the head in the ideal model of a person’s self-image, the stronger the feeling of incompleteness, which gives rise to suffering. We DO NOT RECOGNIZE that we separate what initially constitutes One Whole, and then we try to put it back together, but we cannot find the lost fragments... we begin to look for them... but not within ourselves, but, strangely enough, outside! A person constantly feels this separation, even looking for his soul mate, believing that there is certainly his lost soulmate somewhere. And all this is only because he cannot Feel his integrity, cannot Realize this, and looks for the missing fragments in another person, becomes so attached to him that he cannot imagine a soul without... When a person Realizes that he has not lost anything, and everything he needs is already inside him - he ceases to be dependent on his illusions of search.

You can understand this, you can be aware of your illusions, you can acutely feel the spiritual need to find yourself, but this will only give rise to the desire to take the closest path of escape from yourself. Until the #Awareness comes that there is actually no inner emptiness and incompleteness, a person will continue to see the roads ahead of him.

Will fill this bottomless void and look for fictitious fragments of the mosaic. He struggles with what, in his opinion, brings him internal disharmony and a feeling of emptiness, which slows him down on his path, but thereby only draws his attention to his own ego, and this makes it feel even more important and significant. A person engages in an intellectual duel with his ego, but there is no place for either winners or losers. The only point is to recycle the fuel.

All our strong and vivid emotions in most cases are symptoms, external manifestations of internal dissatisfaction. Why do we, for example, feel so sad after some holiday, fun, long-awaited purchase... why does sharp apathy and disappointment set in after we were literally just in seventh heaven with happiness... Because the ground for such joy or pleasure was created artificially. The person intentionally or unknowingly stretched out the time of torment until the next cherished goal, thereby creating a sharp contrast in the minutes of the border between suffering and joy, because this makes the feeling of happiness even stronger. Contrast turns into a drug, a person becomes an addict of these moments. After all, they give a temporary feeling of filling the spiritual emptiness and dull the feeling of dissatisfaction. Each new dose of fleeting happiness must be even brighter, even stronger, and therefore the acceleration zone becomes even more suffering, filled with even more self-pity and self-flagellation. To experience great joy, you have to act out the uncertainty of the outcome of the matter within yourself, deceiving yourself. But at the subconscious level, this artificiality cannot be disguised, it is already burdensome, the contrast is erased, the emotions filling the void again disappear without a trace, a rollback begins... emotional decline, apathy, disappointment, a new black streak of acceleration in pursuit of the next a condition for a minute dose of pseudo-happiness. Whether they are positive or negative emotions, a person clings to them like a straw, without which he cannot swim out of the ocean of dissatisfaction. In an effort to suppress negative character traits and negative emotions, we wage war on the symptoms of the disease, and not on the cause. If you suppress one thing within yourself, a new external manifestation will emerge in its place...

When we are indignant - why did someone do something, why is he so and so? why don't you do anything about this problem? why is this happening? In fact, the problem is not external, the problem is not why someone did something, but WHY WE WERE SO HOOKED BY IT, IT HIT US FROM THE INSIDE, WHAT WE EXPECTED, why suddenly, in this situation, symptoms emerged from us in the form of fear , bitterness, aggression, indignation... what stirred this external irritant within ourselves?

All our burdensome feelings, emotions, memories, regrets that any external irritant awakens in us are just attributes of an actor’s costume or unfulfilled karmic debts in the form of billions of completely unexperienced moments Here and Now, which are the cause of this internal dissatisfaction. And we perceive this mental pain as part of ourselves... we feel it as an organ that hurts, but if it is removed, we are sure that we cannot live without it... that’s the whole problem, we identify it with ourselves... we It hurts, but we press the thorns even closer to our hearts.

Continuing to play at suffering, we continue to feed with energy the emerging pattern, the internal program of the victim, the offended, embittered, guilt-laden person. This template is firmly saturated in all subtle bodies and subsequently wanders in the form of an integral program from life to life (from period to period), thereby forming karma (fate). If a person has a program of some specific suffering, then it will certainly attract people, situations with the opposite program...

When a person constantly feels guilty (resentment, anger) either for his past in this life or in a number of previous lives (on a subconscious level), worries about this, chews his burden again and again - he constantly feeds energy into this negative feeling (program) on the mental, astral and etheric planes, and when there is an excess of energy, then this negativity moves to the physical plane in the form of a disease, which is not so easy to cure, since, thanks to a person’s thoughts, it receives constant recharge from the energy planes.

Few people want to deprive a precious emotional burden of nourishment, cut off all connections with it, and heal the internal program. What will we play then?

We are not ready to let go only of what we cannot PLAY enough of.

We are people.

Behind most of our public machinations and intrigues there is an internal dissatisfaction, an unconscious desire to snatch at least a small dose of the love that we so badly lack through the approval of others.

But we only prove to ourselves once again that we constantly doubt ourselves, we are ruled by fear, which we may not even notice, and we subconsciously seek approval from the outside, seek confirmation and evidence of our goodness, of which we are not sure. Nothing more than artificially obtaining a surrogate of love by hunting for approval. But this self-doubt is generated in us by the ego when it feels ambitious hunger. It has sowed uncertainty in us, which we are in a hurry to get rid of, and in the easiest way - we naively believe that we will get rid of our own complexes and imperfections, neutralize them, level them if we point out loudly at them, only in another person.

Without wanting it ourselves, we convince our interlocutor of the same thing, that is, that we have no harmony and confidence, no inner peace, we ourselves have a ton of crap that we can’t deal with, that infuriates us and which, of course, we first of all look at in another person.

If the interlocutor is not a fool, our ego will only think that it is eating and will not notice how it eats its own tail! Even if he notices it, he won’t spit it out. It is not customary to squander property, it is not customary to look for something that was not lost.

PART 3. Chance.

Ruthlessly torn out from under a careless mask, swiftly picked up by despair, melodies and lines broken into the edges of deafening screams, the sacramental pain of which cannot be heard because of the barely audible whisper of the heart.

And only the lullabies of nostalgia will forever keep their secret of oblivion.

Too much light. It penetrates right through, my usual guests cower from it and hide in the most abandoned corners of their souls. They are indifferent to the lack of care, to rare visits, they do not care about what happens outside, but they will never accept if my eyes begin to get used to the light.

I don’t remember an abandoned warehouse on this site, there should be an administration building here... although... I shouldn’t be here either. I remember when I came here, it was a normal route, but today everything is unusual. In fact, I don’t care much about these questions; I’m still absorbed in my rejection of the artificial whiteness of space. I am looking for comfort among rusty and icy structures that have already acquired the shadow of eternal night.

Through the detached statement of my situation, I still feel how the sharp edges of anxiety are difficult to get out of the feather bed of cotton thoughts.

With every second, clarity of perception returns to me, with every step I move away from the point of return. I didn't miss a single moment, I didn't make a single wrong move, nothing went unnoticed in my field of vision. Time has lost its power here. delay no longer threatens to be fatal. Carelessness will not develop into a fatal mistake. this place is intended for those whose arrival here is simply expected.

Now I can even see the patient observer. But the first thing I see is a huge knife in the hand of an unfamiliar teenager. Here I am, the one who frantically turns around only to once again be convinced that there is a dead end behind. I went into it myself.

I needed to feel the roughness and dampness of the rust, to feel contact with the cold of the dark, silent silhouettes. I stop recognizing myself, I no longer see my cowardly and fictitious self, overflowing with pathetic contemplation.

I'm not trying to defend myself.

If there are moments when the mind no longer controls what is happening, when feelings no longer play any role, and the physical body obeys an invisible puppeteer... then now is exactly such a moment.

I am not constrained by the painful inevitability of his leisurely approach, I do not examine the features of his face, my #brain does not scream about approaching death...

I regain control as my back hits the cold wall, remembering that I heard the slight glide of a blade on a metal surface a second after my body leaned slightly to the side.

I'm afraid I'll miss important fractions of seconds trying to understand why this knife is now in my hands. I still haven't realized that time no longer takes sides.

Who is standing opposite each other now? Maniac and his victim? Two enemies? I don't understand, but it seems like he's out of my space. I look into his eyes and am met with absolute calm and oblivion.

He didn't want to kill me, he wanted to kill something in me. Is it just yourself? Then he is too cunning to strike accurately. Sad eyes tell a different story. Maybe I just want to think that he is just the personification of a part of myself, as saturated with negativity as it is filled with care and love. He is so familiar that he frightens with the dark mirrors of mental pain turned inside out, but at the same time attracts, like the way out that leads to healing from a fatal disease. But she has already become a part of yourself, which you cannot simply get rid of, because stepping on the threshold with her will mean losing yourself. the loss of everything you consider family. Maybe this is the meaning of that door that will never be opened by you? You, while you are held by the fear of losing yourself - the One Whole of your own illusions.

I feel my weakness, the futility of what is happening, I hate myself so much for allowing my essence to remain blind to the outstretched helping hand... I can no longer see the indifferent, understanding observation on the part of this person. Yes, now it would be better for me to be just a person, just a witness of my spiritual helplessness, from whom I can get rid of. I don’t care that it’s not true, when I plunge this knife into his body, I can’t see that he’s wounded, that he’s bleeding, I want him to die soon, so that it’s all over, I’ve already lost, he probably knew about my loss in advance. Why then do I need this chance? To see even closer how far I am?

My despair, drowned out by rage, asks for the impossible. But he does not die, he continues to stand on his feet. Blood is everywhere. On him, on me.

But even the artificial affect of rage is no longer able to restrain pity (self-pity?), a feeling of Unity with this person, I feel his emotional pain, or rather, a reflection of my own pain, I naively want to fix everything, I want to return what already cannot be returned.

I'm starting to despise myself even more. Even from the fact that I try to look at myself through his eyes, in which I contain my own contempt and hatred.

I take his hand and put the ill-fated knife into it, squeezing his bloody palm with my bloody hand.

My internal countdown of time stops, the scenery and the main characters freeze forever in this interval, when nothing happens, when blood covers everything, and it is no longer possible to make out what I feel, whether my heart is crying, whether my consciousness is numb from the disgust and enormity of what is happening, and what part of my being is simply mesmerized by this picture, looking from the outside. No, these guests, who have emerged into the light of the night, perfectly understand all the tragedy and fatality, but this is precisely what seems to them to be a highly attractive action.

Cut! Actors are free.

It was a signal, a click that launched an invisible mechanism of animal passion, whipped up by an invisible hooting crowd, turned on by the bloody action and demanding the final denouement. The realization that this is a wonderful Chance that cannot be missed rolls like burning and piercing needles along the exposed nerves.

This is my enemy. I just lulled his attention. If he managed to become a part of me, and I believed that time does not exist for us, he will not have time to see the packaging that allowed me to gather the strength for a sure, fatal blow.

He lose.

I cease to be the concept of myself, I no longer examine the fragments of my world, time is no longer divided into mental panoramas.

With incredible prudence and composure, I plunge a knife into his heart.

He lost... but only his bet on my victory.

The scenery is melting. I no longer have timelessness to feel another defeat. I am pushed back into the usual sequence of seconds.
I am getting up.

PART 4. Awareness.

I never impose anything on anyone, no matter what a person believes in, no matter what religion he adheres to - this is his personal path, his personal tasks, this is what he needs in this life, yes, that’s exactly it and nothing else.

He harms us, or vice versa - helps, or causes irritation with his down-to-earthness and lack of faith, spurs the desire to wake him up or, on the contrary, give up on his blatant thick-skinnedness - he is only part of our karma, we are part of his karma, we play a role, he too actor. Either he creates an unfavorable environment in order to strengthen our character and gain us the missing experience, or he maintains and strengthens spiritual harmony and love - in both cases, he is our assistant, a tiny or significant link in the chain of destinies intertwined with patterns. Whether we realize it or not, the performance will continue, the actors will play their roles, and the audience will applaud or leave their seats, not realizing that they are also on a stage where there are no steps to descend into the auditorium...

If a person were born with a different worldview or if he strongly believed in something different, even in what is closest to the truth, he simply would not cope, he would not pass through the tests prepared for him personally. As a result, he will live this life in vain, and instead of practicing the lessons he himself had planned in advance, he will fool around in search of the meaning of life, fall into unnecessary philosophy, catch up with drawn illusions, climbing into the jungle of his subconscious, but will do nothing from it , what was really required of him in this particular incarnation.

Therefore, dividing people into deep sleepers and those who wake up is useless. If a person does not realize himself in this life, this does not mean that he lives in vain and does not make the path to spiritual development. It is possible that in this incarnation he set himself completely different tasks, of a more material level, but no less important, without which he would not be able to take a step forward on his path, and his plans did not include unexpected enlightenment and self-knowledge at all. Each soul has a purely individual program.

And not only a person who has forgotten about everything in physical incarnation can rush around in search of the meaning of life, in search of his purpose and awareness of his own mission... ...it is not a fact that the soul itself in a disembodied state clearly and clearly imagines that What is required of her is where to move next, how best to cope with tasks, what is best suited for successfully working out karma - what kind of body, what living conditions, what physical and mental components, what ambitions, aspirations, goals...

What will be good for a person?
- to ignite his desire to know the truth, which is inside and will not escape him anywhere, it is simply inaccessible during the physical trials of life...
- or not to lead astray, no matter how erroneous it may be from our “true” point of view...

Both options are both true and wrong at the same time. While the soul is incarnate, a person will not be given the opportunity to understand all the nuances and intertwinings of destinies and the laws of karma, no matter what heights he reaches on the path of self-knowledge.

To make a true verdict about the correctness or error of the choice made, the chosen path, the accepted faith is simply impossible and unnecessary! This is not the purpose for which souls incarnate on Earth.

© Ship Shard

This story is published in full version with the author's poems as an integral part of it in a single atmosphere (previously, both the poems and the story were posted separately from each other or in fragments under different nicknames). Posted by Ship Shard. Videos, photos and drawings of Fenix LI

We will probably never overcome our illusions. This world will cease to exist. Or it should have been originally conceived differently: both the world and man, each of us. The illusions will remain. And masks too. In my opinion, there is no point in constantly fighting with masks and with what seems to us illusions, alternately winning or losing every new day. We simply need to accept this entire totality of what constitutes our “I.” You need to understand that it is all one whole. And accept it yourself. And don’t apologize to anyone for this, because we are all the same in this. Just accept yourself. And those who are important and dear to us.

© Ship Shard

A ray of dawn warms the twilight,
Lost in the shroud.
Day after day, summer passes ...
again thoughts of spring.
Somewhere out there, on the wings of the wind,
They see off flocks of days:
The hour of sunset, the moment of enlightenment ...
Tear-off calendars
Forgotten Pages,
Turned into foliage,
Like a string of moments
Blanketing the void
Overflowing burden
A pile of years, an arrow of adversity...
a proud descent, a time of goodbyes
And a broken flight...

A timid morning tried on a shadow;
Yesterday's tears are waiting for gilding ...
Raring to burn through the clouded captivity
A ray conquering the sky heights.
June haze the colors of winter
Melts like feelings, unable to withstand the light.
The night awakened familiar dreams,
Who lived next to me until dawn...
The moon hides in a pale impression
A crater of love that attracts glances.
From the south, a wave creeps through the leaves:
A tremulous exhalation of gentle coolness.
The color is waning: minutes, years ...
no, sunsets do not tolerate delays.
The water will wash away with an autumn stream
Everything I wanted so much once.
The past time calls the silence
of the Distant colors of the illusory world -
Juicy sunrise fills the country -
The one where she was loved and loved...

At a quarter to one, curled up at the edge,
Under a pile of decaying years,
I leave the strokes of warm tears to the winds,
As a symbol of the curse of coins.
Questions on the walls of an empty glass
Dried up from thirst for senseless spending.
Answers are like wrappers of dusty magazines
On the crumpled block, the row was replenished.
Just pull out the soul - and you can stroke
Crimson signs on a slice of worlds.
The steel elixir that allows you to fall
Will lick the fire that burns the blood.
And take out the limp sweet pity,
Cling to her flesh, hearing the plea, -
To tear through to the end, so that there are no feelings left,
And squeeze out all the pain, shuddering in delirium...

Catch in the unearthly vice
The prickly captivity of your freedom.
Torment yourself, longing for one thing,
That all the years will be stolen away.
Pray in the fire of your dreams
Not noticing the road to the goal,
Painting hot canvases
On the folds of an abandoned bed.
Your final sadness
Savor the summoned larvae,
And the cracked grail cries
Through the prism of detached karma.
Extinguishing the weakness of the negligee,
Cursing invisible shadows,
Calling out to the past in the soul,
To the fact that the reality will not change ...
And the magic light of dark eyes
is eternal for the circles of deception ...
"Have you had a dream where there is no life?
Loved someone I won't become?".

I cast a glance into the former pool,
Turning to nowhere.
But love does not reflect
Cloudy water.
Drowns tears at dawn,
Coming out of the banks,
And the precipitation of centuries
Covers the moaning of the winds.
At the Lost Edge,
At the intersection of roads,
But fate does not let go
Beyond the inscribed threshold...
Beckons into the abyss, dragging
For bottomless years,
Echoing bitterly:
“no. Will not be. Never.",
In the furnace pool of azure,
Stirred up by a wave...
the heart fell asleep alive
Under the veil of the veil.
He can 't shake off the snow,
Not to notice that the earth
Exchanged summer bliss
On the frozen fields
Infinite space
In the stopped clock.
Only the fire from the ice burned
Autumn is eternal in my eyes ...
I cast a glance into the former pool,
Turning to nowhere.
But in vain I burned the darkness
A passing star.

...A moment - and the road back is erased,
And only the skin will read the secret writing of the lips.
A moonless night sheltered the eyes,
The color of the winter skies is a shadow of passion disturbing.
The soul scooped up the breath of dreams,
Desperately drinking pleading moans.
In captivity between the lights, you can't hold back the trembling anymore,
And the mind slides, yielding to the inclination.
A lost look appeals to madness,
Seasoned with flashes of hell and heaven.
Your sinking world is compressed in the rings of lust,
In the boiling waves, the pain of doubt is caressing.
I will shred the glaciers of the void,
Mercilessly break into the dungeons of desires,
Teasing your blood, not letting go
With a painfully sweet, tearing edge.
Hide your heart under the mask of love -
Under the muzzle of seconds, I will feel eternity.
I know what your lips are asking for,
About what every nerve whispers excitedly.
So close that life was rushing in his hands,
Sating the fire to the brim of perfection,
Throwing instead only a debunked fear
And a bitter prick through the fragments of bliss...
My Angel, how hard it is to lie in silence,
The invisible contact is illusory looking.
You know you'll come back to me again
Obediently handing over the seal of his secret.
And again the pain will rise, wandering in dreams,
In hopes that the life path will be summed up,
My last breath will be reflected in my eyes,
The cold of the winter sky on the tears of many...

Under the sweet pulse of irreconcilability
Static cold squeezed the ardor.
In the eyes - a shade of permission
Pride lowered the bar.
Discordant touching
Along the edge of a dormant string
Caught in the exhalation of consciousness
The courage of the inhaled wave.
A careless gesture with a touch of power
The barrier of protest caught,
Sending a shiver through the needles of passion,
Depriving the pain of the last strength.
Barely restrained body response,
The pressure of the played struggle,
Poured out nectar, putting on boldly,
A crazy moment in a twist of fate.
The peals of happiness bent the axis,
Implanting flesh into the remnants of tears.
Strung moan on kisses,
Piercing through the universe.

Light lies on the edge of darkness,
Mleya in midnight velvet,
As if in the marble of the moon
The heart of the night was sculpted.
Passion through the cold of beauty,
Under the silent recognition...
of the sun, the heat is trapped in a dream
Tamed the radiance of love.
Discolored rays,
Indifferently contemplating,
How the soul tears,
Taking in an alien world.
Milky Crystal Juice
Imbued with a pattern of shadows.
Euphoria and sadness
We met for a moment.
To fit one chord
The revolt of heartbreaking suffering,
Exalted to the Heights
An immature consciousness.
Where the secret pleas
They stuck up and froze,
Speckling the captivity of fate
An ellipsis of stardust...
the edge of heaven is still bitter,
Inflamed and cooled,
Immature light to give,
Only sensuality is comprehended.
Behind the loop of sticky lines is
the bottom of salted illusions.
The selfishness of love is cruel,
Inspired by the muse's potion.
Who is ready to hear the pain,
Let it be fake, it doesn't matter,
The one who got hooked on love,
Will not temper the abyss thirst.
Grasping at the past,
Will not sate the emptiness,
Breaking all that is holy
About the altar of your dreams.
Filling up the gap in vain
A dehydrated river,
Tirelessly blunt
The steel of a fatal loss...
and in the warmth of the night sun
Hiding the knife that stifled the scream,
Until the abyss closes,
Swallowing us up, too...

...Brought the light closer behind the screen of darkness
Two fires in the hearts of the distant,
Who became the marble of the moon,
Smiling in the windows.

My Hero is soaked in blood
From a tortured soul.
A clear halo above my head
Clouded by sweet lies.
Demon of Evil, Guardian of Hell,
Is this about you?
If so, the reckoning will come
For all the dead loving...
Viscous captivity in the delirium of confusion,
What do we know about ourselves?
We sell for inspiration
The joy of living on earth.
Ice Of Fire, My Creation!
Who helped let you in?
- You yourself, your aspiration
- Combine passion and pain.
We've been looking for him for a long time
In an unconscious fervor,
Imperceptibly immersed
The heart is in a black hole.
The way is open, the crops have sprung up,
Hidden in the depths,
Tenderness hurts more and more,
Bursting out of his chest.
He's inside, but you didn't know,
That he lived by your longing,
Reflecting its essence
In the diversity of people.
The pain is poisoning drop by drop,
He found the keys to you,
Opening your soul wide open
For the abode in the night.
Threads of tears will fill the veins,
The voice of the flesh cannot be stilled.
We are the exiles of Eden,
Those who wished to suffer.
Hearts crunch - his salvation,
The bitterness of the day is his seal.
It is granted to us in oblivion,
Light and Darkness intertwine.
A hundred deaths have breathed you.
The line of depravity is thin.
Despair was dissolved
We are in the aesthetics of sin.
The soul listened to a wonderful dream,
Shattering into pieces,
But she did not want to weaken
The coveted vice...
My hero is already yesterday's,
But the wounds will not heal.
Blood and Poison flow into the bowl,
To drink it again.

Full version ONE WHOLE https://dzen.ru/a/YDXmzHVu6zHw8DY1 on the Zen blog https://dzen.ru/shipshard

Thanks to Sigmund Freud, Jaspers, Nietzsche and Aristotle