I came down with the initial paranoia of love,
because I was unwell. I couldn’t read anything anymore.
“You’re a useless carcass. A rotten carcass,”
repeated two women with provincial accents.

They were saying, “She was born, a matryoshka was born
and here’s another one.
Exactly the same.”

“No. I don’t want to be here,” I kept saying.
I thought, this isn’t right.
I need to repent and drive out the demons.
But those women weren’t going anywhere.

On the third night without sleep, I finally dozed off.
Be

No more voices.
Yet still quiet silence.

We met in the psychiatric hospital.
Yes, there are so many demons here.
I can’t hide from anyone.
For now, they’ve put me in isolation. Alone.
I became a subject of observation.
What could be worse than that? Nothing.

God.
I stared at the white ceiling.
A single black spider above my head.
I wondered if I’d transform into some kind of insect, like Gregor.
****, I love Kafka.
Yeah, I think I broke my camera.
I think I broke it. It upset me.
And then they called me to eat
fish in French mayonnaise.