berlin is dead

I need to fuck somebody

dressed as Frida did as faking flowers upon the hair,

pretending not to care.

I got thank you for nausea though,

cause if it didn't, the dead, would be the only one happening,

or life without feelings.

and I've considered this previous before....

but none of both considers heaven too and

that sucks.

I kinda tricked myself into this since,

the first sign I recognized on your absence being,

I chosed not to see.

but can't blame me either...

so,
why the fuck do I need to fuck somebody,

if the only one I want to fuck is you?

to fucked, to think, I would have it done on top of the Turkish market, February 19!

and though so close, you weren't even near.

so,
how would that even be a possibility, besides my cruel fantasy?

so fuck yeah,

berlin is dead!

at least, to me.

even when mind crossing the hippies urban camp,

you ruined it.

and I hate you for making me feel so alive at the same time,

and you should not know this about me.

not as much, as your less efforted to know anything about else...

no, don't worry.

I'm not in love with you.

'just crashing broke in my self-love,

and the urge to spill some catharsis.

and to blame a damn thing besides my procrastination.