Archive for the ‘La désenchantée’ Category

I stare into the abyss,

and down my leg I piss.

In my dream I am naked,

not nude, alas.

Exposed,

not composed.

Yet, it is an artificial construct,

suiting the other’s agenda.

Misunderstood

and misrepresented,

decisions and derisions already made,

I know discussion is futile.

Open.

Society.

Closed.

Internal exile.

Domestic abuse.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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The less I knew

the nicer it seemed.

… Ignorance is bliss …

Hopeful expectation

blown away,

gone,

missed.

Reality, alas,

negativity,

possibility destroyed.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Sayonara, Gospoda.

Hope and dreams flushed away.

Disillusionment and pain,

my remains.

Life

and

decay.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Democracy is about choices,

so they say.

So,

if I could see the end result,

what would I choose,

and would it make any difference

if everyone else voted otherwise?

New York City,

fallen from high

splattered on a sidewalk.

Or Petersburg,

seats behind the SKA bench.

Pretence and manipulation.

Grafting and grifting into another day…

Or death.

In Lithuania, it has been said,

suicide is and/or was a national sport.

What does it mean to be alive

and/or dead?

Now or then?

Empires explode and implode.

Individuals expire…

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

Perhaps this is an unfinished,

unsatisfying saga.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

So, this is what freedom tastes like?

Democracy?

The freedom to choose (albeit with little chance of getting what you actually want)…

In the midst of a Moonless night,

a half-frozen Bockwurst,

you bite and chew,

fatty and vaguely smoked tasting,

mass-produced, soul-less

… West German wannabe Kolbasa.

Alas,

this is not what I signed up for.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

I wait for a smile,

some hope.

… I get nothing

but hurt.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

I used to have something

but now I am spent,

empty,

hollow,

bitter,

asunder rent.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Sick joke.

After the deluge, flood,

gut-wrenching damage,

heart-broken people,

sunshine has the temerity to break through,

shine.

I grimace in the glare.

What solace?

Perverted grace.

Salt.

… Mockery and farce.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

People,

the ultimate pawns.

Atomized

or collectivized,

deluded, denuded,

used,

despoiled, destroyed.

Pawns.

People:

expendable,

broken toys.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Public privations…

humiliate,

frustrate,

desecrate

(the soul,

and everything that could be beautiful).

I close my eyes and try to think of something else as I crouch over the bucket. But the guards’ jeering laughter is hard to ignore.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat