Her father was a drunkard
I always wonder if her mother
Would still be alive
If her father wasn't a drunkard
I can't stop wondering if she
Would still be a little happy child
With only one big problem in her
Tiny little head.
I can't stop blaming myself
For not being able to stop her from visiting
The place where her mother went.

Little catchy tune
Playing in my head all day
I said come over
And you said Really? But where?

Than
I started to shout something
I thought you heard me
but
unfortunately
I remembered it's a game
You're not here
And that's indeed a shame

Maybe it wasn't just quite enough
watching you breathe
and admiring a Miracle
like heathens beholding sanctum
when it appears
for the very first time,
right in front of their eyes..

Only if I could have
all the power
in this world!
I would spin around
almost as If I were
vinyl.
But
a little frightened I am
that I may be broken
so the
world
will wither out of
boredom
because, f**k it
it was expecting
a musical
spectacle.

Like a blisfull day
in a painter's hand
sunset
portrayed me.
The truth
was almost as transparent
as my brand new scarf
that she left me
when she was
leaving
I was standing there
strangling my thoughts
with my bear hands
the feeling was
obscure
there wasn't any blood
there was nothing
just me.
The killer