Max Fomitchev-Zamilov, Poetry

Максим Фомичёв-Замилов, поэзия

I let my failures guide me
Deep into the rabbit hole.
Why do I crave this suffering?
Oh, masochism of failure!
It’s beautiful in its extreme.
It bites me like a shark,
It cuts me like a razor.
I love the smell of blood
As long as blood is mine.
I cherish self-inflicted wounds
Collecting them as trophies.
My life’s achievements
Are my stigmas.
I suffered – means I lived.
This championship of misery fulfills me.
I run from happiness – it causes only envy,
But misery arouses interest
That’s mixed with admiration.
But save your pity! I have enough of it myself.
It’s not the solace I am after –
I crave attention.
And my performance is self flagellation.
So hurry! Get your tickets,
The show has begun.

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