Dean Mokrozhaevy

Dean Mokrozhaevy moved to Australia in 2008 and grew up reading and writing in various suburbs of Sydney. They use their writing to work through their emotions and make something meaningful out of distress. Outside of their writing endeavours they also enjoy bushwalking, watching moon jellyfish in the Sydney harbour and sewing with their assistant Concrete the cat.




Everything’s fixed up.
Everything but the pink stain in the kitchen grout.
I told you I wanted to keep it.

I don’t know what you were preparing for
But I think you’re done now.

I can’t tell what you’re feeling anymore.
Not from your face.
Your hands are still gentle
You still hold the back of my head when we sleep
You still let me sink into your body and cover us with the

You say that the paint is peeling

But I like it

You say that you’re scared

But I’m here

You say that you love me and that you’ll always love me and that I’m the best thing that’s
ever happened to you

And I tell you that we still have decades to love
each other

You give a chuckle and change the subject

When I wake up
You aren’t there.
The sunrise paints gold on the sheets
Not on your face.

I get out of the gold.
It’s not mine.
It’s yours.

The shower’s off.
The living room is empty.
There’s no one in the kitchen.

There’s a note on our shoe cabinet.
Your keys are the paperweight.

I love you.
I’m sorry.