No-one wants to buy
my perfect face
the smooth pages of foreign magazines
I collected and kept
to light a fire
when snow
buries the windows
my eyes are called boredom
on the streets, cold this summer
my mother is a feature film
I’ll forget
as soon as I close the door
I need
attention
just like artists
kids & criminals
your thick eyebrows
your bare feet
the birthmark above your upper lip
O, Cindy
you’re just a wild desire
from that street where it never snows
fidelity is an essence
that can’t be attained
memories are not enough
for the years of futile struggle
except for Cinderella carried by the current
in her chrome casket
I sliced my skin with a razor
because it rushes into old age
and leaves me
in this
youth
that won’t pass
Translated to English by Ana Božičević
EN 
MK