She tasted like cigarettes
trying to swim in a pool of lust
but drowning in an ocean of sorrow
and she hated it
hated the fact that he could see
her cracked up layers
and her piled up fears
he held the petals
of her cardoon shaped heart.
She didn’t understand
that her smoke was his air
and he revelled the waves of her lust
enraptured in breathlessness of her sorrow
she sleeps on a bed of roses
but only feels the thorns
painting the white petals red
and every night they decompose
in the bottle of cold liquor
Out of berlin’s lights
with nothing else in mind
and only the wall in sight
oh…
she wants to enjoy the spirits and
maybe make love by the wall
and, anyone who cares could watch
blessed to ride and die
they are the freak show
and all of heavens hosts
acknowledge their place
sitting down at a table
sipping cold liquor.
Little Borrowers 