A perfect assassination takes the melted glass and puts it in the tub to see throw the elimination. The smell of autumn is already here. Take the cote out of the closet. Lets dance to the smiling cats in the fields. The grin has a rhythm. Delusional heaven. The rays of enlightenment. It is a cloudy morning. Silent. 06:57 am. Rangers are at hunt. We should hide. Walk by the rails. Enemies are in hiding. Don't forget the cote of the shadow play.

Delusions in the taste of maple syrup. Cotton candy and pink ribbons. Tiaras and miles of moving pictures. It will lullaby me to sleep...violins and pianos. Toes of red and strawberries. Raspberries and glass bowls... Mornings and numb stares throw the window. Lets take a ride. No emergency exits needed. Lizards will move in the swastikas swirls directly to the sun. Blankets. Close the eyes of terror. Welcome...

But what happens when the monster does not leave. When the sleep does not come. When time does not move. When every line is like the last one. When every word is a puzzle. When diagnosis are taking over the field. I have painted it all in earth colors. Never was a fan of fauve. Fairy tales. Where is the next stop. 38.7. And it just keeps growing. Pin me down.

The shoe size 38. A pair of perfection. So glamorous on the outside, so terrifying from the inside. Black. Shiny. With every stitch and every line. With every land mark. We open a folder of sounds and images. And tomorrow. Lets just say it never happened. There is no one to judge. Tho all is simple. If you are not scared to watch.

This was the beginning of post-mortem journal

Good night and god bless,

Sonia Dietrich


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