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FREE MANFREE MANfor ElectricAvocadothey used to saythat for every newbornanother flame flickered to lifea booming baby boy's startled cryswelled hand-in-hand witha freshly-lit candlesturdy, but not too long(it wouldn't need too long)you don't get a guide for thingsyou need to learn for yourselfit was a good thing then she thoughtthat she was born to be a motherthe baby she had created (all on her own, without the help of you goddamn useless people she could handle anything on her own)was g r o w i n gtoo quicklyinto something with a mindshe just wanted a baby,and nothing moreher baby (her beautiful baby boy, the only thing she'd ever had for herself)didn't suit big boy clothesor big boy bitesand learned to pleaseand mother went delirious with praisefor the boy that didn't growtill even her lovingly made mealsdid not pass his teetha candle that was lit by a little boysoftly
letters to homeDear mother,I take up to three hours to do my nails, and I like it that way.Only just this Wednesday, they were an electric blue, and when I held my hands in the air, they blended with the sky. Two days later, the flowers could find themselves on my fingers, pricked with great care, though not as sweet-smelling.I can stay up till sunrise, then sleep the day away to see it sink into the deep-blue sea.It wouldn't surprise me, if you have never seen the palette of a fresh day, firmly painting over that of the dark night. Or sat on the roof with a tambourine to play along with the sounding of the great church clock.I have never been this happy.My hands are perpetually stained with the colours you've forbidden. The entire house is full with the sounds you've closed my ears for, and that makes me appreciate them all the more. It makes it a bit like.. suddenly regaining sight after being blind from birth. There's so much to see, and you have much to catch up on so it comes in enormous,
Trophy wifeYou took the stars out of my eyesand traded them for diamondsShoving them over the counter withyour eyes on only the prize'Cause what the hell could beata good accessory?(nobody cares for that sparkle in your eye just make sure your thong matches your purse, doll)You knocked the breath out of my lungsand took it for yourselfGreedily gulping it down like free wineon the party of the yearAnd who would ever carefor the name of the birthday girl?(music louderlouderLOUDER you won't stop dancing and I'm still on the ground gasping for air)You ripped the hairs out of my scalpand watched my muscles flexRealizing somewhere far-away that theyworked the same as yoursWhen, we wonder, did you forgetthat I was just as human?(when I bleed it's red not golden but you forgot those unimportant details while making career)You stole the heart out of my chestand kept it in a small cageTightening the locks as our parents saidwha
It's too bad, reallyThe sterile-white roomContrasting with its redfaced occupantsShouting, encouraging, cryingA resounding smackAnother scream, another red faceThe sterile-white roomContrasting with its redfaced occupantsAnd too much red bloodAnd it was in the midst of joyAbout that little bundle of joyThat Mother closed her eyesNeeding sleepSo so tiredShe could always hold her baby..laterSleepAnd it was the most lovely cardThat was sent all 'round townThick cream-colored paperWith a little stitched-on bowMade of gleaming silkFather and (late) Motherproudly announce the birth of the(ir)most beautiful baby in the world
Nameless documentDon't rush meCan't you see thatI'm trying to think?The blinking vertical stripeOn the purposeful first page of Microsoft WordWaits for me so very impatientlyTo write the first wordAnd the second and then the restAnd of course I knowThat the machines don't talkBut the humming sounds a bitLike such a heartless orderCreateCreate it now I'm waitingDon't you understand thatWe computer programsHave so very little time?Empty clear milky whiteBlank pages don't just leave themLitter them with black wordsdecoratejust so very simplyblackonw h i t e
you're the only finish linei've got blisters on my feetfrom walking after youbut i can't shake the feelingthat it'll only take a bit more time(one, maybe two days at the most)for me to catch upit's too bad (, really)that you're not moving in theopposite direction(of me)so you could meet mehalfway (there, wherever that may be)but i guess that's always been you(a selfish enigma) and i'm not sureif you want me but i hope you do(if not, at least need me)because it's always been only youi'm walking towardsAnd if (when) your broad back is getting smalleri deny that you're going faster and insistthat you're shrinkingbecause we've both been running for so long thatwe've become this old already(by this time we should've been resting our joints by the fireplace alreadybut nothing ever goes as planned)still i dare not look down to my hands in fearof not seeing countless wrinkles displayingthe passage of time