I’m touching the emptiness over and over.;
I’m touching it , hoping to one day reopen
Everything wonderful, that had been broken
For reasons so small and so petty…I’m walking…
Observing inclining, declining desire.
I’m lost in the Freedom, I am made of Fire.
I’m dropping whichever way is forbidden
But there is a memory fresh of the lost days
They call it ” Eden”, I’ve seen it…
I’m forcing myself , I was never this stubborn
My personal space becomes visual Garden.
And I let it grow into form of obsession,
I’m foolishly cosy, I am The Impression.
Of someone before, someone brutally murdered…
I might find the Matter already converted…
And this is my Fear, and that’s why you want me,
I’m full of sensations, I am slightly haunted.
I’m searching so carefully, with such devotion
For you…pure you, without any precautions.

“Julia D. Stepanchenko”