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Riding the subway
I realize there are so many people
so many people, really
I wonder if all of them
are okay
Я не играю — я Живу,
Сказал однажды Роми Майерс.
В приёмной жизни и в аду,
Где каждый день — и бой без правил.
Марсель, и снова по утру,
Я вдохновляюсь с этим миром.
Я не играю — я Живу.
Сегодня. Здесь. Сейчас. Спасибо.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem isn't a pose or a slogan. It's a radically personal statement about the right to be in your own life. No mask. No script. Just presence — today, here, now. That's where the power is. That's where truth lives. The world may be chaos, but you don’t have to play its game.
Она рыдала в туалете
Гостиницы «Континенталь» —
Её ебали те и эти,
И вдруг себя ей стало жаль.
И вдруг однажды на рассвете
Она решила полюбить,
Но, как листали те и эти,
Никак уже ей не забыть.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem captures an inner turning point — the moment when the past no longer defines you but becomes a stepping stone. The heroine is not a victim, but someone capable of rewriting her story. It's a poetic statement: I remember, but now I choose to love.
Так хороша, когда оттрахана
И фотки шепчут этот взгляд.
Давно мужчины так не ахали —
Все как один и — невпопад.
Забыла мышка по-предательски
Себя в пыли библиотек —
И понеслася по касательной:
Любить нельзя ебать навек.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
A woman, freed through desire. Post-*** glow becomes her real face — not the one shaped by books or culture. From dusty expectations to digital self-expression. Between knowledge and pleasure, she chooses to be seen. A clash between puritan heritage and modern ****** agency.
Любовница или наёмница,
На подсосе — верная женщина.
Суровых будней сподвижница —
Она рядом, тихо играется.
В игрушки свои наивные,
Что Воин Света подкинул ей —
Конфета на палке, липкая...
Иди на хуй, милая девочка.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Kiev, 2018 (c).
This poem explores the archetype of the "obedient companion" — blending the naivety of pop-femininity with the quiet brutality of power structures.
She plays, but the game was never hers. Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.
Marya Jul 28
The city hums a fractured tune tonight,
A discordance that seeps into my bones.
I walk these streets, bathed in electric light,
And feel a chill that’s deeper than the stones.

We built this world, with clever, grasping hands,
A towering cage of steel and brittle glass.
But something broke, beyond all our commands,
And shattered peace, like shadows quickly pass.

Anxious eyes, charged with desperate hunger for something unnamable,
Reflect a collective yearning for connection and meaning.
Humanity feels adrift, lost in a spiritual fog, disconnected from its inherent goodness and moral compass,
Drifting further from its ideals with each passing moment.

And all I feel is weary, heavy dread,
To watch us stumble, lost inside our heads.
Sitting in the subway.
All fix their eyes on screens —
What does this sight convey?
Is this all that their lives mean?
Inspired by a ride on the Berlin subway.
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