Max Fomitchev-Zamilov | Poetry and Prose

Максим Фомичёв-Замилов | Поэзия и проза

My chest is full of stones.
So full, that my heart has no place to beat,
So full, that it is hard to walk up straight,
So full, that drowning comes naturally.

My chest is full of stones.
Each day I find room for one more.
Each day I stretch myself thin
And push my ribs out
To make room for one more stone.

All of my guilts,
All of my losses,
All of my sadness
I carry in my chest.

Far from being a pirates’ treasure,
This personal heirloom
Is my most defining possession,
It weighs on me heavily

Until I can no longer walk,
Until I can no longer breathe,
Until I can no longer think,
Until I can no longer love.

Stones.
Only stones
I carry in my chest.

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