My hand smells like sensual cinnamon smoke and all my words are affected by your existence.

I want to extend every thought I have and I want to start every sentence with additions.

I can only put you in perspective to the trademark of yours; the toxic wonder feeding several, miserable addictions.

Words slowly drags me into stories of another persons mind and you only stay because of your petted persistence.

That favorite boy of hers, mumbles her name out in the unsecure no-one sorrounding him. They would touch art and share galaxies and laugh until the dawn. She invested her time in him, and vice versa did he invest his time in her. It turned out though, that the odds were dry and not she, nor him, planned to water them. So she got herself a pretty little fiancé; a man capable of nothing but air kisses. He wasn't meant to be, but they were. While the fiancé was far away, she would cut her peonies and make her skin look like shallow marble and braid her hair. All day, every day. But only until dawn, where that favorite boy of hers, would rip of her silk shirt and draw lines between her freckles with his bare hands. Her shaking and pale body would greet everyone she thought was nice - none of them were. All they wanted was to demand her generation to touch their chosen ones and no one else in their entire city. It was tragic, grasped the lady at the hairsaloon, while she was extending peoples illusion of youth.

The tide drags me back and then exhale me out
I'm falling/bending over
I can be your rotten, little lipstick flower in the wind

They tell me what happiness is and I unconsciously agree
All I can think about is the mink robe and the bathtubs sound when i exhale enthusiastic bubbles

That pretty face of yours; can I rent it for a dollar?

and I escape
away away
into everything
right here

this thin and silky edge between air and water
crashed crushed

the once so filled lungs got emptied
bubbles danced out of my mouth
as I drowned deep down
I thought I could
walk on the waves

Do I smell
like I'm torn to molecules?

You're as fragile as
the color of quartz or
a porcelain doll or
a rare wildflower or
an ill newborn

I'm out of order
my voice is patheticly vomiting over itself
my own body feels like cutting of the corners
my eyes only focus on what isn't there
my brain is though, the most critical one
since it works okay

An oily lane of rainbows
A field of hunger and rage
I wonder what awaits

den måde sammensætningen af vokaler og konsonanter
flød
gled
smuttede
hen over dine læber
rev fat i mig så langt inde
at det næsten ikke kunne mærkes

du åbnede op til dine inderste blodårer
lige foran min trommehinde

verbalt
brutalt
genialt

du er en demo på mine tideligere dårlige idéer
du strejfer de hengemte tankepakker jeg ellers havde pakket så fint ind i blødt papir
og gemt langt, langt ned under min seng