monsters

We pretend to be badder then we are,
monsters,
living in shadows
of all our fears,
in the falling ashes of our past
alone with our badness,
alone.

And the flash of a blade in the night
means nothing
is nothing
like the leaves whispering on the empty branches
and glass shuddering.

And the love-making
is written in blood
sweet.
And the love-making disturbs voices
in your heads.

And your sleep echoes our timelessness,
our uselessness,
in your world,
where everything is counted,
where everything is measured,
where everything is sorted,
and shelved.

Voices break into sobs in your world,
a glistening void
where the blood hasn’t pooled,
where the blood will not pool,
where there is no evil,
no monsters,
no purpose,

And the silence reigns supreme.

About Julie Deshtor

Julie Deshtor grew up in the Soviet Union during the turbulent 90's, and moved to the United States shortly after the Soviet Empire collapsed in 1991. A bilingual author, Julie writes both fiction and poetry, as well as translating poetry and lyrics. She brings her rich cultural and life experienced to her fiction, exploring the psychological struggles of her characters with compassion and insight, as they navigate the murky waters of the modern society. Julie currently resides in Utah, USA. Her interests include art, world literature, zoology, anthropology and urban subculture
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