The burning sheets, pink, naivety of a dreamcatcher on a concrete balcony, glass shades on the first floor. Disliked the kitsch and the thought of a horror b-movie in YouTube in ten parts.
Pleasing stuffing, filled but not full, exhausted, drained, sucked, emptied, done. Wanting to fill it, because of the lack of content and the feeling of fulfilment all the time that is compulsory. Drank in between the birches in cool calm despite the sign of a mall in bright. There and the dirty double-trailer truck on the side of the road, two words, a pulp factory, which has been closed for some time.
It is dark, drinking in the dark, the blue, yellow and red, drinking a wish and the thought of full, drinking the landscape, drinking the melancholy and the night, drinking the time, drinking the passing cars, drinking the dirty snow, drinking the shoes, drinking the hands. Not who drank but why. The problem is what you are. That is why.