When words turn into swearing

When words turn into swearing, eyes turn wet, and legs turn to cotton. When lies become facts, brotherhoods become sects, and thoughts become terror attacks. People split into castes, with bland feelings, with frequent screams. With pure fifths, sharp seconds, and hideous sounds. With empty lyrics, by any means, and the temptations of riches. Without proper tact, with other people's letters we make our contacts. With temporary unions, eternal wars, and non-aggression pacts. With countless victims, with patriotically minded posters. By hook or by crook, with forgotten officers and soldiers. With bursting shells, with medals and awards. With hails of bullets, and afterwards — with hollow stares. We chase it down with dinners, wash it down with wines, and bury it with shovels. With split opinions, with incomprehensible moods. With unattainable dreams, with boundless horizons. Over the rapids, all patched up, the tired valves barely breathe. The souls of the subjects bent far too low under their brethren's unwashed paws. With Tarantino dawns and Nabokov sunsets, With Gagarin flights, with space rockets, With the rolling peals of Tyutchev's young thunder. In fear of fast karmas, empty chakras, tasteless fodder, disputed norms, shot glasses covered with bread, women's charms, biblical punishments, overcrowded bars, prison bunks, blows of fate, red sunburns, and whatever was left off camera. We're scared as hell of being old. Of driving with the headlights off. Or of being Clara with the corals, with money — never mind if big or small. Frantic, gone grey, lonely and in the wrong. We're afraid to be… afraid not to become… afraid… at every step. Afraid to believe or not to believe… Afraid to touch the truth and never wake up again.