Behind the manifold of placid masks,
I dance between pitiable and fiendish faces of my oppressors,
their malice towards my being eradicates my self worth to that of a maggot.
Treated as a malignly I am help captive by the siroc of my own emotions,
and I am acquiesced for that small hope in my heart that I too may be accepted.
My apparition is countered by with repugnance for my individual,
The environs of my mind contain such distaste for my own shadow give me no escape from myself.
To interchange places with a god would be a dream,
but one that will slip between the grasp of my clammy fingers.
To be able to pass by the days of pain, knowing there is a brighter light upon the exit of this path,
To go back to the exordium of my own insanity,
to feel your lips pressed upon my forehead one last time,
or the cool of the gun below my chin- these are my dearest adjurations.
Before the undulation of being "crazy",
when the benevolence of man wasn't entirely against me.
Tovarishch.
My comrade.
You chased away my abjectly painful moods,
back when the marooned skiff upon the shore was our ship,
and you, her captain.
Where disquisitions of the sea were held over the puddle in the back yard, instead of tea,
and tears were only shed when there was blood-loss rather than words, never for cataracts of manipulation.
Now, I've shed enough tears to fill up the ocean, and enough blood for vampires.
Bags under eyes like bruises,
And the eyes that were once filled with childish play are now full of solemnity and as much salt as the Dead Sea.
I will always love you,
even if its from a distance, now.
But I hope this gun shows more love and appreciation than you,
and in heaven the angels don't cry.
Good-bye, tovarishch,
I hope one day you'll be able to look past these scars.
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