Zakhar Prilepin. Sin (№ 106638)

I lost a match. Boxes lost, they say.
Lost the sense of frail, disastrous being.
Arrogant, the word weed, standing in the wet wind.
Happiness, as you large. Where should I hide you?
There is no feeling of cold, slush.
A veil of wind, fog and no snow overtakes me.
Something crumbles in his hands. Think this winter:
Frantic, but not hear, as if in a silent film.
Not to take to heart. Learn to accept it.
I really want to make, but the heart like a puppy
Stupid is sitting in the corner, in a puddle on the floor.
He will lick the stomach, then he scratch his cheek.
Heart, where are you and what are you? You do?
Don't know your beat, not feel the weight of yours.
My God, simply Oh, God, you didn't know
I stand, smiling. Even that was just for fun.
There is no sense of time. Warm, frantic, lively,
I see nothing but happiness. Much more than I need him.
Froze, I know, seemed to be frozen. I know and can not admit to themselves
At least on atom black blue
Fumes smelling of night - town in the dirty snow-
The fatal consequences of this heart - this wind sound.
I don't know how not to pardon, not to reproach.
What I ask of God? Except that, a light.