Max Fomitchev-Zamilov, Poetry

Максим Фомичёв-Замилов, поэзия

The yawn of the sun engulfs me
with its freckled light.
It sifts me through its rays
and swallows me
like some celestial whale.
The sun is merciless today.

I can be merciless myself
towards my thoughts and feelings.
I slaughter them continuously,
denying them expression,
complying with the norm.

I am my own judge and executioner.
I cast my own shackles.
I read my own sentence,
and carry on the penalty.

The prison of my consciousness is dreadful.
I am locked up in a solitary cell.
No visitors allowed.
I hear voices…
Am I mad?

I must be.
To be my own tormentor
I must be mad!
Please cure me!
Release me from this curse!
I beg you.
I beg forgiveness.
When I forgive myself
I will be truly free.

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