Cursed Myself Poem by Anna Naumovych

I'm inscribing these lines very slowly
While the cold draft is touching my feet.
Only night is reflected in pupils - I'm lonely,
And the demons are lurking the street.

I'm stretching my hands to the stars;
They are flitting sadly around.
These words are my lifeless memoirs:
Never uttered, solely written down.

I'm not angry when the wind blows them away:
Let them whirl, otherwise - into the fire.
My truth is naive, it does not overweight
Her name is for good while mine has expired.

My tremulous lashes made the shadows leave.
I've sent it again" "Hi, how is life? "
No reason, just courtesy, and no deceit
And cursed myself for the hundredth time.

© Anna Naumovych