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I Cry in My Calvins

I run for you my love.
Running back to 27.
I keep on eating your empty sentences.
They push me back to where I came from.
Back in to tight, high waist blue jeans,
walking straight on low life dreams.

The star thinks, she wins, when she is starving.
Star feels too much even they mean nothing.

Sweat hides tears.
Sour they fall down.
I am still very happy I invested in a fake smile.
It provides me from sober talking or gets me complete overreacting.

First scene:
I scream against the screen.
Second scene:
I lose everything.
Soft and weak, so hard to stabilize.
Blue and green around my eyes.

Maybe one day, we can do this.
Maybe at one place, we can go for that.
Maybe that day, it would have been nice to do something else.
Maybe back then, it was just not right.

My white power o my white powder.
I walk on white lines and talk white lies for hours.

I am the liar.
I still want you.
How could I say this and acting so rude.

I try so hard not to, but loosing focus.
Focus on lying.
Focus on hugs.
The smell of roses my romantic fog—
is gone now.
Focus to the top.
Focus baby don’t get lost.

Heat me up.
Eat me.
Please feed me.
Please do not stop.
Meat of us—back tail—of all.
Your skinhead is my favorite smell.
I suck it in, brain to brain, all clear.
I become who you want me to be.
Last night I woke up, my stomach hurts.
Vomiting my heart out, you just turned.

In and out the solid play.
I lost it again with my romantic mind.
In and out—hi, are you there?
Can I come over? — do we spend
the night?
Cheer it up Girl—just one more time.
Take it off babe—we are alone.
Leave me woman—it’s all gone.

One day I ended up tired on a hill.
In my hand a bunch of grey pills.
Some people in a train drove by and
told me about their trip to amazing sky.
I took the pills, jumped on the train,
ready for the way to a better place.
We never reached the highs so far; all it
did was killing my colored heart.

Daddy’s girl and Mommy’s boy—big,
small, bright and dark in one.
Basel, 2019
Foto: Christian Knörr