Thursday, June 20, 2013


Thinking you're gliding through silk that's made of snow
took three times in a row
pressing "start" on that succumbing mass of muscle red
and it's somehow now all rasp and sticky
a walk on dirty rocks and bitter honey
The sun above is wearing shades and melt the snow out of boredom
and there's still a long way to go, the area out of the comfort zone.
Forget the Ace up on the sleeve, rip it to shreds to rest in peace
there is no ease
the steel of soul, a soul to steal and hit it hard to forge it while it's hot
because I've clearly forgot my user's manual and got an expired guarantee.

I know for sure you claim to build the bloody clay to crystal-like perfection,
I read it in that little diary dear of the worldwide spider house
that you so faithfully keep in secret for everyone to see
and you inspire me so damn much everytime that I notice the connections
between your fakely hidden flaws and seemingly effortless perfection;
and that's so rotten selfish and narcissistically pathetic really of me
because so often it just feels like looking at my mirror image
everytime I see and listen to your ethereal sculpted psychedelic aura.

So, is it just me, or is that moldy and abused long string,
a golden oldy since the very first past life we shared,
has dipped itself in paint of gushing wounds and sweetest cherries?
I'll be your bratty guardian angel on a killing spree, loving for free,
Affection and that underskin burning Addiction,
if only you can give me truth, a lesson learned
and all the love you locked away with that forgotten key,

while space-travelling to supremacy.

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