The agony of explaining about
the LIVING
to your current Lolita

you put cooled down lips upon painful and naive and bare feet
in attempts to stop the elements which
cause the pricks from the big hand of
the clock-face to

the dirty salacious
masochistic and misguided
torments deep in
the snow drifts in
the struggle with sleep
(because every single dream is a small death, right?)

In the silence of the winter the hands of the clock echo in every purest thought

Explain, explain, explain
your memories, her
memories
explain only the poisonous truths

Remind her
let her
never forget that
the truths are cheerful stacking dolls
a black hole in a black hole in a black hole in a black hole

and among all countless truths there is not
even one reality, Lolita!

– Kristina Krumova