Matter
written by: Mykyta Ryzhykh
Tears are dedicated to no one. Nobody wants to drink from my cheeks. Nobody wants to drink from the body of a drowned man. Outwardly, my face still looks good thanks to tons of makeup. Inside my chest, my heart was completely drowned in imaginary love. Water brings happiness on its waves. Water endures everything in silence. The water holds red lighters on its waves. After all, lighters stolen by one refugee from another refugee are red, as is, occasionally, the blood of dead soldiers. Tears don’t teach you anything, death doesn’t teach you anything: you need to cry out of pity for the living and not the dead. Life teaches nothing: instead of suicides, innocent children die under aerial bombs. I didn’t die under an air bomb. I died from my love for you. I’m waiting for you to come and talk to me. I don’t expect anything. I sacrifice the silence of my home to you, but you are silent. Since when did a refugee camp become home? Since when do we try to float to the surface and then drown again? Everything changes, the water freezes. But time continues to float away. The future floats away into its own absence. Time is just a dye for dust. I know everything. I do not know anything. Even God is unable to prove or explain the meaning of his silent existence. Even God is unable to prove or explain the meaning of my silent existence. Meaning is water, this is time, this is tears, this is love, this is fiction. Silence. Ash. God teaches us the language of humility. We teach silence. We study silence. We stall and don’t hear the screams of aerial bombs. I learned not to be afraid of strangers with the face of death trying to break my imaginary window into the house. I haven’t learned to be alone, and I still want to love and fuck. I know that after you cum, a nuclear bomb will still not be born in me. But you will never cum inside me, and I will explode. My cry will undermine this peace, this love, this war. My biggest regret is the lost lighter. I bought this lighter to learn how to smoke alone. Now I won’t be able to learn to smoke. Now I only need to learn to be alone, to be lonely. Even God is lonely. A newborn is always lonely. The dead man is always alone. Tears are always lonely. The sand on the shore of silence is just as lonely. Adults imitate children and build sand castles while waiting for the tide.
- Matter - September 21, 2026
- Any Building I Would Start To Build - June 4, 2026
