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To drag a bag of bones once more,
Right to Hell’s ever-open door.
A final "Farewell"—cold, resigned,
For souls enslaved, now work assigned!

Their minds will turn to dust in vain,
The fools will toil, yet reap no gain.
To reach the skies—an easy feat,
For free? And fight the dark? Deceit!

Who'd praise such work? Who'd pay the price?
Who'd toss a fortune—treat it nice?
A slave walks down to Hell's embrace—
There's cash to earn. He’ll find his place...
I got my new hearing aids
today. What? You didn't know
that I was just nodding
to be nice, but I really didn't hear
anything you said. Everything
will be different now. You won't
get away with all that **** anymore!
What?
i bring a flannel to the
bathroom with me for
after my shower

no sports bra,
no binder,
no tee shirt

just fabric, soft from
years of wear, against
the scar that stretches,
unbroken, from armpit
to armpit

i watch myself in the
mirror, hairy stomach and
chest briefly on display,
pull the clover pendant out
to rest against the front
of the flannel, right over where
my scar is thickest in the middle
of my flat chest

i take the time to marvel at
how i get to wake up a man
every day, for the rest of
my life, because that is
what i chose

this is my one and only
most precious life, and i spent
far too long denying myself the
joy of my queerness and transness

why should i do that now?
why should i give into the misery that
is being pushed upon people like me,
when i get to watch the sunrise as i
walk to work? when my anniversaries of
top surgery and testosterone were only
one day apart last month? when i get to be an uncle?
when my mother calls me her son and
means it?

i am bathed in that early morning sun,
awash in so many rainbow hues,
no longer burning the candle at both ends

i will not be a statistic,
i will not be a martyr,
i will not be changed or silenced

and hell, wanting to die gets old,
after a little while

so i am going to grow up,
and i am going to grow old,
i am carving out a life for myself
that is worth living,
and holding onto that with
both of my hands
Filth as school,
Sense destroyed.
Rot’s the rule—
Decay employed.


In Russian:

Трансформация
Гадость — в радость!
Смысл — в утиль.
Падлой надо
Быть — сплошь Гниль...
It's within---sanity-
     I don't look out to society
You know how I know
That's a bullshiit apology?
Because you're not sorry
You're just sorry
Sorry,
Not sorry
But the difference is
Whenever I am
Mine aren't empty

©2025
If something can't go
on forever . . .
it won't .

It is wise to consider
the end before it actually comes upon you .

A hard knot must have a harder wedge
 Jan 18 Alex Yao
Tetiana
Grief enfolds her shoulders
and her eyes look down
at all of those soldiers
under the ground.

Her thoughts fly
to the shadows around
who softly pass by
and frost all the sounds.

Rows of flowers will bloom
in the yellow-blue colours,
feel the silence and gloom.
Will she ever recover?

Says whatever she wants,
looks in eyes through the picture,
has no hope for response,
prays as said in the scripture.

She'll come later, bring some sweet.
How could she accept - this is it,
nothing left to complete?

How can her heart beat, how?
She is left with a vow,
who will love her from now?

An indifferent look at the stone,
all next minutes unknown.
Will she be all alone?

No more silly jokes again.
Sadness bowed her head.
All his deeds are not vain.

Rows of flags wave her grief,
truth is hardest belief
which you've got to achieve.

Unfortunately, pits are still empty
waiting.

She quietly reads words on bands,
stands.

She will say about devotion,
implosion.

She talks but he will not talk back.
Fact.

He lies with his brothers,
she'll live with some other,
A life is a moment,
it's not her atonement,
she isn't that weak,
just fatigue.
--

Ukrainian:
Журба за плечі обійма
і погляд опустився.
Прийшла в життя її зима,
немов кошмар явився.

Думки летять її туди,
де тихо ходять тіні
і від замерзлої води
проступить білий іній.

Ряди квіток цвітуть завжди
у жовто-синій гамі,
прийдеш помовчати сюди,
під цими прапорами.

Кажи що хочеш і дивись
в ці очі крізь світлину,
за спокій тихо помолись,
надійся на спочинок.

Ще прийдеш потім, принесеш
солодкого й смачного.
Як прийняти, що це вже все
і не вернеш нічого?

Як серцю далі битись, як?
скажіть їй хтось як жити.
Чи зможе хтось її ще так,
так сильно полюбити?

Чи засміється ще вона
від радості єднання?
Байдужий погляд, бо одна
в тяжких переживаннях.

Не скаже більше він, на жаль,
своїх невдалих жартів,
схилила голову печаль -
вона тепер на варті.

Ряди за обрій прапорів,
що майорять від туги,
розкажуть істину без слів
про болі, про наруги.

Пустують ями ще, на жаль,
чекають побратимів,
яких віддати мають нам -
ми віримо - живими.

Слова типові на стрічках
вона читає тихо,
побачити б в отих словах
для цього болю вихід.

Сказала б ще раз про любов
і як його чекала,
та думка холодила кров:
вона цю долю знала.

Ще поговориш ти, та він
вже більше не озветься,
востаннє зробиш ти уклін
розірваному серцю.

Він не один лежить,
вона ж одна піде додому.
І день як мить,
і рік як мить,
життя як мить,
лиш втома.
 Jan 15 Alex Yao
Liana
Zoloft
 Jan 15 Alex Yao
Liana
A little oval
The size of a been
It's green
And I'm not sure if it's taunting me
Or comforting me
But it's there
Staring

It's hard to believe
That something so small
Could change my big world

I know it will dissolve
Into many little workers
Trying to take the wheel of my brain
For my captain is evil
And they want to help me

Please do help me

I've tried everything else
Starting to take Zoloft, I think I'm exited--but I'm mostly just done with feeling bad.

(This note was written by a mop that was supposed to clean but was ***** so made things worse. Like a lot of people a guess.)
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