You should know I stare long

And let my hair grow out all year

Before cutting it, almost ceremoniously.

Sometimes I wonder if smoking tastes romantic

Or just like death actually.

I use words as weapons and wishes.

I won’t suck the poison from your wound,

But I will run my fingers through your hair before you close your eyes.

I like to smell like flowers to simulate some kind of chemical reaction akin to lust.

Nobody misses me.

In the evening, when the lights are out

And the sound of traffic outside my shitty apartment window seems to slow to nothing

I look at my fingers in the dim

And think

Yes, this is me. Yes, I am alive

Before plunging into a sleep from which I wish

I would never wake.

Serious inquiries only.

Yuri Bodrikhin