“Everything is mine” by Mykyta Ryzhykh

Everything is mine. Everything rots like a tub of sleep. The sky receives steamships sinking somewhere on the horizon of an imaginary sea.

All sold. All the talents of the faith of despair bathe on the shores of beastly grief.

Steal from talent. I steal from myself. I’m stealing from talent. Stealing from others.

I want to steal everything and burst. I want to put all the stolen money into my own body and then die.

I want to sell my soul, but nobody needs my soul. Even at night.

Lamps do not know how to warm plaу. Lamps can only testify to silence.

Mice gnawed everything. I never had anything. Just like you.

No one wants to endure the future dead. No one will love you until you die.

Air bombs are like ravens swallowing your every step. The shot numbers of the houses are dripping. No one will be born from your crucified belly.

Everything is stolen. Lighters. Cigarettes. Вirth. But no one can steal the death that sticks out in the palm of hand.

We are all destined in the womb. I want a life. My life wants death.

I want your body to turn into a nuclear bomb and kill me. I want no one to be able to pry my sperm-filled dead body away from you.

You are silent. You don’t undress, you don’t kiss, you don’t explode. And instead of me, others will continue to die.

Mykyta Ryzhykh, an author from Ukraine, now lives in Tromsø, Norway. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2023 and 2024. He’s published in many literary magazines іn Ukrainian and English: Tipton Poetry Journal, Stone Poetry Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal, Shot Glass Journal, QLRS, The Crank, Chronogram, The Antonym, Monterey Poetry Review, Five Fleas Itchy Poetry and many others.

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