Maß


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maß

 
snap crack bite chew,
Cracked my favorite Maß . Now I can drink cold white tea and swallow pieces of glass with taste of blood. Ice cubes too.

border, fringe, brim, border, borderline, edging, skirt … it was made of gold, but I can’t melt it and make a ring for whom I love.
I love no one.

All is an endless new beginning where nothing real never happens.
I was born too old for this.
Now I am older and more naive, a perfect victim.

The perfect victim must to be frustrated and full of hope.

Patterns should have been a better illusion. They are so comfortable.
Now I have this fleshy spirit of Glory upon Dolce&Gabbanna bouquet around my sperm. Pour Homme. For Men.
The taste of blood still lies in my mouth.
I walk back home, to my almost totally broken Maß .

I wish I could tell things, but this world became too cynic and it makes me ashamed for feeling feelings.

If I use sarcasm it will be ok.

 

So tomorrow I will try to wake up early and pretend I am not even depressed or offended or ashamed, paint all I feel the most sincere way possible and she won’t understand.
She will see it, copy it, hang it, show it, like it and will never know what it means.
And I will take a shower, wear my shirt with a comfortable pattern, tie my tie in a hot day, wear my favorite perfume and leave to work to pay my bills and maybe find a girl on the sidewalk who I can fall in love with.
Melt the cracks of my Maß and make her a golden ring before it starts raining.

—-

, by Caio Fern.

 

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