You once told me that 16.6  percent
is the risk of firing a bullet into your head
when playing Russian Roulette.

And I wonder,
Does that make you a 16.6 percent suicidal?
I never knew you were a gambler,
And I wonder,
how much risk are you willing to take?

What will it look like,
when you’re holding that gun against your forehead?
What will your brain think,
that one millisecond before the fire hits you?
What will your tiny heart feel,
right before the bullet smashes your head into pieces?

Will you be counting your debts?
Will you ask for just one more chance?

But let me ask you-
What happens when the fire hits you
and you haven’t decided yet?

I’ve got those pants which used to hug my legs very tightly, some time ago
They were warm and comfortable and they’d snuggle up to each other

But today exact these same pants refused to recognize my legs
They started to let go of them

They observe them now, from a distance, and give them a strange look
They’re scared to touch my legs

They’re scared of those cold and sharp bones
Scared of the blue skin and of my fine hair on them

Bones cold and sharp, which used to be my legs, have become crutches
But they work
Bones, cold and sharp, which might snap in half with every movement
But still they’re whole

And like ghosts, invisible, I walk with those crutches through the hallway
Cross the streets of my hometown
And go for a run every now and then
I get past windows that show no reflection
Past people who look at me in disgust

And when I’m home, the pants slip off by themselves
So that I stand here, naked and barefoot and exposed without any cloth
Only to lift those cold and sharp bones one more time
To make a step forward
Onto a scale which will measure my self-worth in kilograms and make my bony knees wobbly again
Because suddenly, the pants fit again, suffocating my legs with their tightness.

Society’s supermarkets selling you lies,
Sweet and savory because the truth is tasteless.
Words prepacked in plastic boxes,
Their best-before-dates washed out because they've already expired yesterday.
Keep smiles frozen so they’ll never run out of stock.
And rotten teeth and brittle bones have never been so popular before.
Coat-hanger-shaped torsos on the meat counter,
And skinny spider legs on sale.
High-heeled and suntanned and bleached and naked
Spineless with bony spines and hollow eyes
I can see them every day running through the hall
Only to grab that one last piece of beauty.

If air contained calories
Would I stop breathing?
Or would I start panting like a dog?
Or, maybe, would I just continue breathing because – after all – it doesn’t matter anymore?

Someone knocked on my door the other day
A woman I didn’t recognize
Long limps, tiny frame
Her eyes pierced right through me and it hurt
Her fingers were ice-cold when she touched me
Pushing me away to enter the room
She examined the kitchen, the sink, the fridge
And I could only wonder what she was looking for
For a second I thought that she might be hungry
But her lips were pressed so tightly together
That I forgot about it immediately
When she looked into the mirror she saw me standing right behind her
And in a state of both frustration and excitement
I kicked against the glass with my foot
And it was not the glass,
But the woman,
That broke.