My dear...

by Ivan de Monbrison

Translated from Russian

​Blood flows down my throat.
The throat is yellow, but blood is green.
Silence was painted in red,
on Wednesday,
on the wall of my room,
and painted back in black,
on Saturday.
I always sleep with open eyes.
I count with my fingers.
There is in my house,
seven men, eight are dead,
nine women, ten corpses.
One more step on the glass floor
and I will fall through it.
My fall will rip away everything around me.
This past Monday, then Tuesday too,
two are dead already.
The house is on fire... Daddy...
and I am already dead, too.