Cream In The Middle

 Working against self. Praying to the streetlights.

Naked in heeled boots and drunk of once mind. Constructive thinking. Whiskey. Beheaded unicorn in the room. Head on the table. Legs in metal supports. Where are animal right activists when you need them. Not delusional. Reality check - unicorn still present. Currently. Boots off - dress on. Repeat. You excite me! Cream in the middle. Blurred images. Straight back - twisted line. Silver lining. On the table there is no plaits, cloths or placement mats. No visitors and no illusions. No passengers and no curriers. Glitter falls of the eyelids. World drives itself mad. Cliche. How we love this world war parallels. I let it slide. You have your last word in this dialogue. I told it together with a smile. Pinned hard to both sides. Good grip. Tight ass. What else it there to wish for?

Learning everyday. Songs about the last day and fish in the sea. All that bullshit. The romantic gates is nitroglycerine. Why does one burn?

Ah I see. Counting all the fingers - left. Can hear voices clearly. Not one of those moments of forgotten teenagehood, it's not cool to be fucked anylonger. It's a whole different game now. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Long legs. Front tooth got cracked even more, remember when you rammed my face in full size mirror that night, in room 347? Pictures on 35mm tell tales. Reminding moments lost in drunken haze, the high state of reason. Countdown! The green light is on, we are rolling! Vomiting battery acid and swallowing cream. Throat is screaming from the cliche they put in the burn bag! COME ON - make me look at you! This is not ego that brings us here. I can see the moon. Your hand is in my hand and somehow the chaos freezes. We swallow and you count my body parts left in deferment poses around the beautiful apartment with the sea view.

Good night and god bless,
Queen of Disorder
Sonia Dietrich


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