Too exhausted for life,
But too fearful to die,
All my thoughts are a strife,
I'm to frightened to try
To somehow fix my life...

Every morning I fall out of sleep...
And then nothing. No wishes, no goals,
No emotions, just strong urge to weep
All the stresses have taken their tolls.

I'm a robot. I'm broken. No power.
Every chore feels like greatest of feats.
Climbing steps? More like climbing a tower
Of ten thousand floors. And each day it repeats.

I could use metaphors, I could say something dumb,
Like "I feel I'm an onion who loves the self-harm".
But I don't feel the pain, all my feelings are numb,
and I don't have an itch of the weins on my arm.

I just want to have feelings,
to bring back bright emotions.
But for now I'm not healing,
I'm just swallowing potions...

Ideality.
It has many synonyms.
The best one's "boredom".

The stars were bright above my head,
but mind of mine was filled with dread.
How could my actions have misled
me to a hell like this?
What laws of nature did I break?
And where I made such big mistake?
And how much horrors will awake
and rise from black abyss?

I think this all began the day
I bought a house in the bay
I should have listened what they say:
this place was ****** for good!
But it was cheap, as deadly bogs
With crooked trees and stinky fogs
and countless hoards of homeless dogs
aren't pleasant neighborhood.

I lived there quietly for a year
and awful swamps located here
were not at all a source of fear,
but rusty house was.
I had to catch the rain with bowls,
the wind was welcome through the walls:
They, like the roof, are full of holes,
and hence my anger rose.

I couldn't then afford to fix
or to rebuild this house with bricks,
although I feared of facing Styx
if it was to collapse.
I hardly ever slept at all.
I heard strange noises in the wall
beside my bad, like insects crawl…
'Twas just my mind, perhaps…

And once I woke again at night
and saw a dim and lonely light
just at a border of my sight.
In bayous it appeared.
I quickly put my jacket on
and, trying to suppress my yawn,
I ran to that phenomenon.
That totally was weird!

As I drew near, I saw a maid.
She seemed confused and quite afraid
of something. 'Please, I need your aid!'
she cried. 'My brother's lost!'
I saw some teardrops cross her face.
I was bedazzled by her grace!
'I'll save your brother from this place,
I'll help, at any cost!'

With that into the night I raced
in an extremely thoughtless haste.
And under shiny stars I faced
what seemed like certain death.
A horrid beast from waters rose.
I noticed how the water froze
In pools that were a bit too close...
I couldn't take a breath!

I didn't, though, become a prey.
Twas quite a luck, I can't gainsay.
I don't know how I found my way,
but still, I reached my shack
I hear the beast's spine-chilling groan.
I know this building's my tombstone,
If only I could've somehow known!
Why can't I turn it back?

Moirai will any minute cut
my thread of life. I'm ready, but
I want that beast crushed by this hut.
Is this too much to wish?
What takes that devil so **** long?
Should I attract it with a gong?
Hey, freak, I'm here! What is wrong?
Just come and eat your dish!

But then... Two monsters at my door!
I started crying on the floor,
I loudly cursed, blasphemed and swore...
But then I raised my head:
"You found my brother! Sweet of you!
I hope he didn't catch the flu...
We need to go now, friend! Adieu!"
That's what the girl's voice said.

At last, we'll live in piece forever!
Four Horsemen will not ever walk
On Earth with sulfurous endeavor:
It's one past twelwe on Doomsday Clock.

I am building my shack in the depth of the woods,
So I'll never be bothered again.
They assume that I know all their bads and their goods
And I must give advice there and then.

Yes, I'm wearing a robe and I walk in the trees
With some animals running along.
I can heal your disease with some mushrooms and teas,
But I can't make you manly and strong.

I am one with the nature, but everyone asks
For some philter or prettier face.
I am tired of silly and pointless tasks,
So I moved to a prettier place.

Now I finished constructing this dwelling of mine
Where I'll hide from the rest of the men.
I'm not angry at them, they are perfectly fine,
When their mind isn't that of a hen...

He gazed at Them, as he was young,
As They — so strong, so great!
He strongly wished to be among
Them once, to be Their mate!..

Those soldiers with their shiny guns --
No doubt He was impressed.
And every boy'd see Them as ones
Who's best of all the best.

Of course He dreamed to be like Those!
So tall, so brave, so cool!
And surely, They'll defeat all foes,
He thought. Oh, what a fool!

He is now one. As every male.
The war is not a fairytale...
The bombs explode, the bullets fly.
The ones he knew all fall and die...

He doesn't look like Them at all.
They were so handsome, shiny, tall...
He lies in dirt, his jacket's torn,
His stomach bleeds. He feels forlorn.

No doctor's coming anymore.
No mercy's coming from the war.
He slowly blinks, His vision shrinks.
Last minute comes. He smiles and thinks:

"Is this what I was dreaming for?"

(You can listen to my reading here: https://soundcloud.com/rusad-1/yellowind Though be prepared for my accent...)

*

Sit down please and have some tea.
Do not you mind a fairytale?
That, actually, appears to be
a legend from some distant dale...

There lived, they say, a wicked man.
That's not a very fairy start,
but that's the way this tale began.
So, lived a man with cruel heart,

His name was Yellowind, I think.
Oh no, that's surname. Jack's the name.
He always had an awful stink
of rot, determining his fame.

Though he looked noble, hat and suit,
his manor was quite nice and clean,
and very big. And hearing flute
while passing by was a routine.

And once whilst dark and stormy night
a dreadful shriek was heared at his.
Then thunder struck and deathly light
from windows shone. Ah, frightful 'tis!

In moment manor disappeared
and Yellowind'd been never seen.
Though lands of his are still quite feared,
as if they're in some way obscene...


So, how's your tea, my dear guest?
Another cup's here, if you will.
And story? It is not the best?
That's just a start! Now sit and chill...

A couple centuries has passed
another story hit the world.
It wasn't, actually, that vast,
just local ****** of a sort.

A house in the Oldton Hills
was bought by couple with a kid.
The deal was made, they paid the bills,
but soon they all regretted it...

The father found an ancient book
and dropped some blood on opened page.
His mind was crooked, he quickly took
a rake and killed his kin in rage.

Realization was quite quick.
He made a loop and hanged himself.
Police concluded he was sick
and put that book back on its shelf.

Ironicly, their surname's Rake.
As if the Fate there sat and grinned...
And — I can swear it's not a fake! —
The seller's name's Jack Yellowind!


The tea is cold now, I suppose.
Another cup then, here we go...
So, did some mysteries expose?
And are there things you want to know?

A man with only holes in purse
but rich with energy and mind
began his searches of this curse
as he could stop it, he opined.

He asked all villagers he found:
'It's Yellowind', the answer was.
He asked police, they were aground:
'He was insane, that is the cause'.

It didn't stop our brave explorer,
so he went out in the hills.
He reached the place where all that horror
Came into being with those kills.

The house was there, with doors unlocked.
The man came in and reached the shelf.
The book, then second... He was shocked!
Those cults! He really had to delve...

His nose, unfortunately, bled,
some drops fell down on a page...
He didn't ****, oh no, instead
he went into the cultists' cage.


His fate was horrible since that.
Those ****** rituals, you know...
And how's the tea? You call me 'brat'?
You cannot move? And thoughts are slow?

What were you thinking of, my dear,
whilst passing by a yellow house
in windy hills. Oh, is that clear?
The rite is close, put on this blouse.

Oh, some more questions, by the way.
The person reading this, what's up?
You sure your health is all OK?
And do you know what's in your cup?

You're welcome, knight, I am not mean!
The cave's not best of all you've seen,
It's pretty dark and not that clean,
But still it's home to me.
You've come to **** me, am I right?
Oh, that's a really perfect night
To end my life in brutal fight.
I think that you'll agree.

But honestly, I'm bored with life.
So please, just stab me with your knife!
Just pierce my chest, just end this strife,
I beg you on my knees!
I'm monster, that we know for sure,
The Earth itself cannot endure
Such beast as me, there is no cure
For what I've done, so please,

Prolong this suffering no more
Of me and world; we both implore
You to remove this painful sore
That I have always been.
Just take your axe, your lance or sword
And strike me! I won't say a word!
And think about the reward
They put out for my skin!

I don't deserve a thing but hell
And I solicit to expel
Me out of this world, this cell,
My death is overdue.
I checked you out not once but twice:
You're shaking, you're as pale as ice,
You dropped your sword, you cannot slice
A beast that's facing you.

'Twas your intention all along,
And I said that I don't belong
Here, to this world. So what is wrong?
Just finish this, and fast!
I shan't exist, I have to die,
It's easy, like to slice a pie!
Just do this, please, don't be so shy!
...Ah, thanks. Goodbye at last!..

I wish that wasn't me.

I look at the bodies of my beloved and my son and wish that wasn't me.
I look at the ****** knife in my hand and horrible wounds on their bodies and wish that wasn't me.

I remember coming home drunk.
I remember her being angry at me.
I remember my head aching.
I remember her yelling at me.
I remember shouting at her to shut up.

I understand making a mistake of taking the knife and screaming at her.
I understand making a mistake of stabbing her again and again, crying at her to be silent.

I regret looking up and noticing my son weeping at the door.
I regret screaming at him to be silent as well.

I stare at my hands and the ****** knife.
I stare at the corpses of my dearest queen and my heir.

I wish that was me.

My darling, what is wrong with it?
It looks like horrifying pit,
But it's my world, as seen by few,
Just as you asked, I'm showing you.

Why are you screaming, dear miss?
No, that's not bottomless abyss,
It's just my head, no need to cry!
I'm "monster"? Sorry, miss. Good-bye.

You're just like others, as I see.
You can't accept the real me.

I'm glad that they don't see me much,
'cause they'd blame me for all the sins.
I healed a man with single touch;
They called me witch forever since.

They don't remember countless times
when they got help with no payback.
They hate me after — mind you — once
I forced a man out of my shack

and he went missing. Folks assumed
that witch's the perfect one to blame.
I clearly pictured me entombed
as they were screaming like insane

to **** me, break my house down.
As if that drunckard on his pat
could not get lost in swamp and drown
while running scared by a bat.

Whole town is against me now.
Whole but a lonely little maid.
I think for that i shall endow
her, if she's not afraid.

I'll grant her powers I possess,
No secrets I will left consealed,
She will control this evil place
And hopefully, it will be healed.

Those people's hatred gave a birth
to evil essense in this land.
Without my kin it will unearth,
Against its wrath they won't withstand...

But I will leave this cursed lands.
I'll be accused for curse as well,
as noone here understands:
I did not cast, I curbed that spell...

I reached one more important goal,
Another chest filled in with gold.
I watch its glitter and extol
My brilliance and wealth untold.

For long I'm second rich to none,
But I just love to multiply
My treasures. Oh, they shine as sun!
I am now on the seventh sky!

I lived a thousand years or more,
So all my fervor came to naught.
But there's one ardor in my core
That burns my heart extremely hot.

You guessed it, it's my love for money,
And there's no force to separate
Me from my sweet, my cute, my honey —
The coins with my cast portrait!

A war began a year ago,
A war we could avoid.
And now there is no place to go,
No future, only void.

A girl was killed the day before,
And now her coffin's made.
And speeches devil would abhor
Began to charge the maid.

'She is the only one to blame,
That's ****** place to hide!
She had no armor? What a shame!
That's no surprise she died!'

So, what it takes to place no guilt
On little maiden's head?
Is it to hold a wooden hilt
Of sword that stroke her dead?