Red roses, best way you say if they were given yellow.
Wild horses, ride them, best if you are drunk, way around they won’t understand what you say. That must be too confusing. Like no firework at New Years Eve-got it? Just have it.
Hanclap. No, stupid you, not any handclap, stop thinking you’re soooo special you need such a spe-cia-l handclap. It’s not about handclaps.

Stop drinking so much caffeine. You say. Mention the nervous people in the office chairs who always live because of this. Eating their chairs and being important by getting a lot of money. Let’s have a bloody kebab you say.

There is nothing more, if you go deeper, everyone wants to be so superficial. What for? you wonder. Pick a stare, bite a piece off it, chew it with great pleasure and start giving a lecture why whe shouldn’t have a favourite colour but should be happy to have the possibility to be colourful. Why the people have to chose every fucking single time you wonder and talk further on that there isn’t any sense in it. You haven’t had the choice if you want to be born. So you don’t have to have a motherfucking colour. It would never be yours. And to be honest- you keep on going- if you would be surrounded by this shitty colour, and just this one, for-bloody-ever you would fucking freaking out. Because no one could say „this is my favourite“. It was told, that is important- why? Live without combinations sucks, you know what I mean?

Heats still get broken, when sourrounded with you. When listening to you. Unicorns still get stolen, colours lose their meaning. But you keep on going.

Like a quick dream- appear-dissapear- definitely something to talk about, quickly forgotten but always good for a anecdote.

rideau-s

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