Still waters run deep,
Poker is cut until the morning,
They whip whiskey, they quarrel drunk
/I visited them yesterday/
In a quiet pool of devils - girls
Drinking champagne until dawn
They paint sponges, draw arrows,
Build eyes, sad about love.
In the still waters of sex, drugs
And boulevards of night lights.
Cupids play darts
Getting back into people ..
And not aiming, they shoot drunk
And they get high…
And on the ground...
Treat wounds on the torn heart
Affected
In the spring..

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I have your last name, you have my soul.

On the palms of fate, the line became common, slowly.

I have your insomnia, you have my dreams.

I am your wife, lover and peace amid the hustle and bustle.

I have your desires, you have my sins.

I give you attention and sleepless verses.

Our tenderness is in abundance, understanding is without words.

I have your last name, you have my love.

Life will turn out so that every morning you will pass by my house

By the way, with the new you, I'm practically unfamiliar

I hardly recognize you in the photographs where you are marked

This path from me to you has long been endless.

Infinitely far and knitted in a figure eight

In the eight, from which there is no sense for a long time

Our infinity is made up of two parallel lines

And they do not intersect, well, or not in this world.

Passing my house, your Adam's apple will pulse

I don't remember the first time you smiled

'Cause I've known you all my life and never had a first time

You appeared at once, like a genie from a crystal vase

And you didn't smell like someone else's very cunning woman

Zemfira remembers every crack

And I do not remember you, in whole, neither in full face, nor in the side

I only remember how from the ends of the hair, to the very heels, the current sparkles

And your inept, falling like the towers in new york

Lie. And a broken eight

What now consists of those same parallels, without the possibility of reconnecting.

Meet the kids, this is love.! This is Love! who was bred

You are my best sharpie on the whole piece of land.

And I warmed everyone, with pleasure, your snakes

My favorite Ocean and 13 of your friends:

Weakness

Cowardice

Indifference

Looking for the best

Selection error

Hypocrisy

Betrayal

Revenge (as handing out cold meals)

AND DISLOVE

13 friends of my excellent swindler

And tomorrow morning you will pass my house again

I'll leave a note on the windowsill before bed

You've changed, I don't recognize you anymore

You changed yourself, leaving me the best

his part.

All your chips, luck, aces and thimbles

I miss you so much. just call me please

Come without friends, without the smell of someone else's very cunning woman

Do you want to bring your joys, sorrows, cracks

Life will turn out so that my house can not stand it and rush to the road

Your Adam's apple is dancing a nervous bossa nova

My fingers are crunchy like bitten cookies

Be yourself, even for a minute, for a moment

Or no yourself, but whom I invented and fell in love blindly

Become February, my personal summer.

I don't want to see you, I

strong girl, I will endure

But if you're looking for a reason...

New Year.

According to the Chinese calendar.

I am infinitely devoted to you, and the more sincere, the sadder. call these lines nonsense, or tedious, stupid lowing. indifferently ask: “What’s the point?”, Destroying everything that I built, but not penetrating: your look only saved me from a stray shot. grin and say that it’s stupid, that it’s funny, that it’s terribly funny: these lips have been dreaming for exactly a year, the one with whom you thought we’d barely make friends.

You once whisper about it: “how much pain I gave him. he was infinitely devoted to me…”

and betrayed by you too,

help me sleep

I don't have nice dreams.

give me a softer pillow

and the roof over the house is stronger.

in the heart of January,

and so long until spring.

I wasted valuable time

and I don't dare anymore.

help me sleep.

I got stronger, I became a mountain!

neither break nor break

But why am I given this power?

every time I tell myself

"This is the last hero."

but fate, denying

kinda ruined me.

I can not sleep.

anxious in the heart.

I don't believe in words.

shout to Morpheus

maybe he will inject me with morphine?

how many different people

tore me apart,

you also take

bringing me closer to disaster.

the night scares me

exceeding the limit of silence.

every year she

everything makes my soul blacker.

help me sleep

I don't have beautiful dreams

give me a stronger roof over the house,

and softer pillow.

but you are silent, and,

pulling a night light in the bedroom,

turn off the lights in the room

exhaling easily and wearily.

you, like any stranger,

sending feelings to a dead end -

falling asleep quickly

you carry a blanket.

Ah Astakhov

curl up with a stream of tap water -

move to the sea before the cold.

I want to be so free

not to leave traces.

watching something catchy

dawn smears the bulging eye,

I want to be a little broad -

not a single word wasted.

Vera Polozkova

A person loves you as much as he is willing to give for you. Sounds very mediocre. Like the phrase of Nadezhda Mandelstam: “Does he love you? How much did he spend on you? What a selfish lady.

Although what self-interest: she lived in poverty with a poor poet, there was nothing to eat, there was nothing to walk around either. But the poet was ready to give for her - everything. Simply everything that was. Ear, eye, kidney, life .. Not really thinking. What do you think if you love? So for example and Small child won't think. And he will give everything he has, although he has nothing but toys and his own breath. And he can be greedy - not to treat him with candy, to press the toy to himself. This is under normal circumstances. And in mortally important ones, he won't even think about it. Because how to live and why - without mom and dad? And this is the highest degree of love. Everything is forgiven for her, in general - everything. If a person has done so or we know for sure that he will do so. And all relationships based on healthy selfishness are a good thing. Until you find yourself in such danger that you have to give everything. Or at least a kidney. Or an apartment. And a healthy egoist will say that it is somehow unreasonable: to give away their organs and square meters.

And an unreasonable child or a poet will give it back. Say: On! How else? Just live! And this is the highest degree of love, inaccessible to many. And they wonder: why do these unsuitable people live together? Yes, even in an unhealthy relationship! Wrong!

That's why they live.

And a healthy relationship between two reasonable egoists ends badly, at least for one egoist - if he falls ill or goes to prison. Or get old and weak. They will spend a reasonable amount on him, and then leave him alone. Because where real love- no selfishness. Reasonable or animal - for me, they are not much different. There is only love. Which I all wish to find or keep.

and as long as there are bridges on earth -

there will be those who burn them.

and while the ships leave the ports -

there will be those who are waiting for them.

and while the sunset spreads in the sky -

there will be a new dawn

and there will always be someone who is very happy with you

and those who are not.

and while there are reasons for tears -

there will be those who pour them.

someone, having heard a roar, is afraid of thunderstorms,

someone hears fireworks.

and as long as the concept of sleep exists -

someone will not sleep.

distances and miles pass in full -

to come back again.

and the threads will always tangle into knots,

and the words are in a mess:

you want to say something - but doubts are evil,

and the reason is a trifle,

and not every question will be spoken aloud,

and the answer is nothing.

sometimes two are not enough for love,

sometimes one.

at great depths we want heights,

off-road - ways.

and as long as there are bridges on earth,

I can't get to you. the wave won't shake

ocean surface.

but even if all times end -

I will wait for you.

Here she exhales: “It’s already hard to be silent, give me a sign - a call, one turn of the key, give me an extra word in our midnight chat, I’ll start answering you. I will begin to talk to you, to see you differently, to distinguish you from the thousand stepchildren of that spring that grows outside my window, penetrates dreams, consists of this sparkling silence. I was dumb, but I can't anymore. Give me the word to lay down on my string. Give me a southern city - Tbilisi or Baku, give me the wind on the shore. I want to talk to you with everything that the world gives - addresses, houses, events, people, black coffee in a Turk, a noisy street, an old city, the sky spread over it. I want to tell you how much there is around - how the cotton of the cloud sways in the wind, the white-toothed children leave their game so that the sun touches their hands. How old people sit, swarthy from hot years, how a pomegranate crumbles into grains on the table, how a trace of honey remains on the skin, how an almond tree takes the color captive.

Here she exhales, the paper trembles barely, like living water chained in words.

If there is silence, there is a right to it.

Pray with me. I know who you called.

As for the stars, they are always.

That is, if one, then another follows it.

This is the only way to look from here:

in the evening, after eight, blinking.

The sky looks better without them. Although

space exploration is better if

with them. But not leaving

from a place, on a bare veranda, in an armchair.

As said, half of the face in shadow

hiding, the pilot of one projectile,

life, apparently, is nowhere, and neither

you can't stop looking at one of them.

There are men with whom you want to be a woman

Inquiringly gently tilt your head, squint through your eyelashes, shake your head with a knowing look, listen to inspirational speeches, glow with a half-smile of the “we are of the same blood” style.

I want frankness - but not on all topics, but only on those for which frankness is not accepted, other topics are not important at all with them. I want an outstretched hand, I want to lean on my shoulder and also know that all this nonsense from books for teenagers is not completely nonsense after all. Well, do not whisper "cute", of course, and generally without vulgarity, but something like that. To sparks in the pupils and surprise in the interlocutor, because it's beautiful, because it's a game.

Yes, I have, of course, pick up the bag. Yes, I will definitely be carried out. Yes, I will definitely never be able to pour myself tea in my life. I will spill, spill, mix up, burn, stretch, fall, break, cut, infect and die. Thank you. Yes, save. Yes, stir. Yes, stretch. And let them straighten their shoulders and pose: it suits them. Not everyone, only them. With the rest, this looks ridiculous and childish, inappropriate and almost obscene, but just stupid, in the end. But with these you can: at least for the fact that only they have this tender, weak, unbearable, soft, warm hole at the neck a little bit to the shoulder, into which alone you can bury your grateful tired nose.

And there are men with whom you want to be a man.

Friend, comrade, brother. Thus, with whom “back to back at the mast”, which is a colleague and like-minded person, relations with which are once and for all defined, warm and understandable and which never need to be clarified.

Funny. There is nothing to clarify with them, everything has been clarified with them in advance, once and for all, and does not require confirmation. Discussing business at work, drinking beer together, watching football, changing clothes in public, not thinking of giving up the eternally feminine squeaky “turn away”, washing in a bathhouse, yelling at each other in a cruel argument, forgetting for weeks and remembering suddenly, making friends at home, quietly complaining to each other to a friend on mistresses and wives, to slap on the shoulder, to give alcohol, to smoke side by side, to talk about everything without being cunning, and not to think about what, in fact.

To be equal, without idols and subordinates, to be close without anguish and passion, to be appropriate, like that same beer, maybe to have some mutual friends, but never to share women among themselves, not to share anything at all. Be as simple as the Malibu Island stamp, which has only images - a black letter M on a white background.

There are women with whom you want to be a man.

Carry it on your hands, hold an umbrella over thin skin, breathe an iridescent vein on a delicate neck, admire, admire. Stroking with your fingers, even mentally, where people do not stroke, and do not care about decency. Embrace, capture.

Giving flowers, because it's just normal: giving flowers to those who want to give them. Pour, treat, feed, feed even: so thin. Or so pale. Or not thin and not pale, but there is something in her that requires the phrase "my poor girl." A person who knows how to say “my poor girl” in time, with the right intonation, is a king and a god. This is the only phrase that you need to seriously learn for those who are going to love those women with whom you want to be a man.

And there are women with whom you want to be a woman.

Almost a child. Come, fall, fall even at the feet, at the feet, at the hands, at the eyes, demand, receive, demand again, receive again or not receive, but it doesn’t matter, and let him feed, feed and look, but he doesn’t look like a hungry dog , but the way my mother looked in the old kitchen.

Tell everything, and let him react - or not tell anything, and let him guess. Be capricious, but not in the name of the game, but because the jeans are torn, and let him sew. Ask to read aloud to you and whine that he reads something wrong and wrong, and urgently bargain for another book, and achieve, and send to look for, and fall asleep without waiting.

You will tell me that it is not at all a matter of belonging to one sex or another, and you will be right.

You will tell me that in any person there can be a combination of all these traits in different proportions - and you will be right.

You will tell me that it does not happen that both the first and the second are in one glass, that different people perceived differently and that everything is multifaceted. You will be right again.

You will tell me that all this should have been explained in other words and that this is not the point. Well, yes.

But there are men with whom you want to be a woman.

And there are women with whom you want to be a man.

In the dense forest, a still pool
Invitingly he beckons to himself
Mermaids say, they moan there
And the horned devil is sitting there.

I remembered the quiet pool,
Where I have been more than once
Enjoyed the sweetheart's shelter
I kissed her lips...

Still waters run deep,
Waiting for your turn in it.
What is meant to be will come true.
We've heard all about it.
How to understand where is the deception, where is the truth?
Recognize where is good, where is evil?
We strive for happiness, we are furiously,
But not everyone, unfortunately, not everyone is lucky.
We're wrong, we're wrong
We are in a tight bind.
But from the ashes we are reborn again,
Again, the road is calling us.
We do not learn from the mistakes of others.
And do not heed the advice of friends.
From love suffering again tormented,
Like a rotozey who has forgotten the lesson.
We trust the sleeping crows
We chase the noisy sparrow away.
Don't rush in the right direction
After all, everyone has their share.

Still waters run deep,
Poker is cut until the morning,
Whiskey whipping, drunken quarreling
/ I visited them yesterday /
In a quiet pool of devils - girls
Drinking champagne until dawn
They paint sponges, draw arrows,
Build eyes, sad about love.


In a quiet pool of sex and booze
And boulevards of night lights.
Cupids play darts
Getting back into people.
and not aiming, they shoot drunk
and get high…
but on the ground.
heal wounds on the torn heart
affected
by spring...

Girlfriends, friends, housework,
Forget your head too

My devils like you.

You are careless by age,
As the saying goes: "Demon in the ribs."
I know this meeting
It won't end well for us.

But I won't interfere
You drown in my eyes
You just remember that from there
They don't come back.

And if someone asks you
From your ex, by chance:
Where the hell are you, dear?
You don't answer anything.


Girlfriends, friends, housework,
Forget your head too
Dive quickly into my quiet pool,
My devils like you...