Roses. And Lilies.
It came a glass of sweet, really sweet white wine. Sparkling, as white wine can.

Your boyfriend killed me this night.
Came into the living room, found you, found me, fucked my face up, all i saw was… blood.
We were nearly naked.
There he came. Punch. P-U-NCH. What a mess.

We had a diner with romantic music, held hands, felt bodies. Cooked. Ate. Laughed. Cold nights. Warm hearts.
Told me of your dog. How she nearly died. And you were down. Like your child it is for you.

He kicked bottles and cups through the room. Against everything. I wondered why the windows didn’t broke. I wondered, why no neighbour came around. He screamed like hell. Called you a whore.
Than you kicked at you, threw you like these bottles against a wall. I couldn’t help, I barely could move myself. Couldn’t feel or see anything properly, seems like the room was filled up with pain.

I swore you this night, you’re perfect. Hardcore perfect. Perfect smile. Honest. Funny and sensitive. You have a skin like an fairy.

It end up with blood.

Where are we, hm? In a motherfuckin movie?

Then you decided to stop smoking.

Pack your stuff and get outa this mess.

Lose your job, find a new one.

New. NEW NEW NEW. To find- you. Sitting there in tears because you can’t daze your past away. Two bottles of wine, three beers, a lonely voice on the mobile phone. And the pale taste of erstwhile blood between my teeth.

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