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    Author: Anastasiia Denysenko



    Poetry

    World’s Words

    We cannot tell — what lies in this?

    We rise and fall straight to abyss.

    The world is holding onto crutches,

    While we are standing here and watching 

    The things we think we’ll never miss.

     

    Unfinished stories hunt us down,

    Like eyes of those who aren’t around.

    Their voices bounce against the wall,

    What do we do? Do we grow tall

    Or simply wait till we are found?

     

    The world is biting its own neck,

    There’s nothing more to it than wreck

    In aching souls of those who fight.

    When we look up, we see the light —

    So bright, it takes us all aback.

     

    While we are numb, we capture this —

    The world on crutches in abyss

    And voices that keep coming through.

    But we retreat — that’s what we do,

    We don’t grow tal...

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    Sirens

    I’m looking at all the things you’ve done:
    The unexpected turns and awkward silence.
    How will you know it’s time to run?
    Don’t worry. I’ll turn on the sirens.

    ...

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    The Burning Ground

    I can feel the ground burning beneath my feet.

    I wish I could keep all the promises,

    Predict every consequence.

    The ground dances, glances at my eyes,

    Fills them with water, 

    I wish I was bolder so that I could shoulder 

    Insanity, that feels a lot like vice.

    An unfinished story fills the space —

    Is that a phase in which I face all the glory

    That one day may ruin me?

    It is a clue I need to set me free, 

    Accidentally, it is right beneath my feet.

    The burning ground. I’m stepping down

    In fear of being overwhelmed, 

    I may prevent the ruinous and furious glance.

    It stands with me from rhyme to rhyme.

    It breaths and sets my feet aflame — it’s nothing but a childish game,

    In which I’m destined to resign.

     

    The ground burns, it’s right on time,...

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    You’ve Gone So Far

    You’ve gone so far and yet you think

    That everything is far behind you.

    The things you’re missing when you blink

    Do not define you.  

    ...

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    First Cigarette

    You smoked your first cigarette

    Not because the fridge broke 

    In the morning.

     

    It’s the mourning,

    The sacrifice you make

    Not to make mistakes

     

    That need to be made.

     

    It’s the broken elevator

    On the tenth floor. You are more

    Than you think.

     

    A lot more.

     

    ...

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