Heracles cloak

Everyone who threw the skin of a hero
 On his shoulder,
 Never, never confesses to anyone,
 That he just wanted to cover it up
 Naked meat.
 And from that moment he falls into the world of "almost".
 Almost a scream,
 Almost pain,
 Almost crying,
 Almost death.
 But can a hero be allowed to
 Such a whim?
 Of course not.
 I can. I can afford it –
 What I do is scream, howl, scream
 Into the void, the one I can
 Publish-knowing that no one will hear
 And the skin of the hero will not fall off faded
 A rag from the cleaning lady's MOP
 Public library.
 The cry implies an answer.
 Answers.
 Letters, greetings,
 Calls, arrivals
 From the outside world.
 It wasn't there.
 It wasn't there.
 All this is intended for such,
 Who can be
 Just a nobody.
 Call me "nobody" and you will
 You risk getting a new hole in your skin.
 Although it would have been much better suited to mine
 A faded rag from a cleaning lady's MOP
 Public library.
 Or
 Neither one nor the…
 And I'm just a lying creature
 On this false planet.
 Which is not
 Not in this world, not in this world,
 And there is only thought,
 Accidentally flashed somewhere –
 The thought of an answer.
 I shouted. Without any "almost".
 Faded skin, understand me
 And I'm sorry.
 One girl in the years of early youth
 She said it as if she had told a secret:
 "you Know, I think you're going to be joking
 Even if you suddenly feel terribly bad".
 We were about fifteen years old and she still believed,  that "bad"
 It can only be there, somewhere in the adult, harsh era.
 My ridiculous fool.
 My ridiculous fool.
 I was proud of. Flattered. I joked back,
 As already joked by that hour –  as for several years by that hour joked, and joked and joked…
 As he joked now, in this long-winded
 Delirium,
 Firmly stepping towards his main goal
 Victory...
 How elegant is the moment when children and adults merge -
 The one where someone (not me!) can be bad,
 Badly... Humanly bad. A delicate moment and delicate.
 As from the roof of the house that is after the tenth floor.
 And I? What about me? I just clenched my teeth,
 It's just a game, an illusion, a thought. Mar.
 It warms better than a duvet.
 For some reason this is not enough for me alone,
 How little there has been since the beginning of this feigned path.
 I'm sorry, heroic rag,
 Understand and forgive...
 "You have no sense of humor!"Oh!" cried the gadfly, hotly.
 That's right. We can only answer with laughter, which is fun and a call.
 The world is "Almost" unfit for life, only for survival.
 Only for separations and losses, only for leaving and parting,
 Only for razor-sharp nights, where the heroic hide is the last Outpost. Berth.
 I betrayed it all. Just now, as a joke. I shouted. We can't. But he shouted. Yes. I shouted.
 But still, turn in profile, there will be something Martian, military.
 Your mother... What you all o** * nnye…
 I've heard that many of you are called just like that, not in response,
 Not once in a lifetime, but more often, almost in a few years…
 Yes ... I Admit that any of you have the right to think that he is on his way.
 I don't.
 Understand, heroic skin.
 Understand and forgive.