The glass vacuum presses. A self-imposed prison.
The audience stalls in waiting for calm and laughter.
How they believe in this faded dream,
In cardboard fortresses and cotton-wool snow?
Their stillness \u2013 a blade. Cutting into the temples.
Frozen faces, empty palms.
Between us, an abyss. This quiet war
Has tightened into a knot and drags from the depths.
Everything here is a prop. Only plywood and glue.
Touch it \u2013 and the blue will flow over your hand.
I see scopes in the pupils of people,
And chasms gape on every face.
Forgotten is how not to listen to the broadcast,
How to sleep without boots, not warming the steel.
In the chest lies a frightened beast,
That in the glow of shop windows remembers\u2026 the basement.
Amnesia of comfort. Empty joy.
The survival algorithm stitched under the skin.
This pause in the hall \u2013 a noose on the lips.
I do not believe the theater. The play is closed.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The glass vacuum presses. A self-imposed prison.The audience stalls in waiting for calm and laughter.How they believe in this faded dream,In cardboard fortresses and cotton-wool snow? Their stillness \u2013 a blade. Cutting into the temples.Frozen faces, empty palms.Between us, an abyss. This quiet warHas tightened into a knot and drags from the depths. Everything here […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[55],"tags":[119,121],"zbirnyk":[],"class_list":["post-4311","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-stillness","tag-war"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n