beztefar.blogg.se

Jag hittade henne på golvet bredvid pianot. Ansiktet nedåt, lite trasig, lite böjd. Fundersam plockar jag upp henne från marken, sliter bort en överflödig del och undrar var hon har sin plats. 

Hon stirrar på mig medan jag vandrar runt i lägenheten. Det är inte mitt uppdrag att hitta hennes plats, det klarar hon nog av själv. Jag lägger henne i pianot, där är hon trygg. Men trygghet räcker inte. Hon vill följa med ut på äventyr. Hon vill uppleva världen. Så jag ska visa henne världen

Andrew rushed towards the bus with haste. He accidentally tripped and fell over a tough little poodle. It turned its head towards Andrews’s broken, fallen body with crazy-mad blood-lust. The poodle cried out a shriek worthy a dragon and came leaping towards him for the kill. Andrew feared failure – he was NOT going to lose a battle to a little poodle. He grabbed a handful old rucola and almond pesto from the gutter. The mouldy gew hit the dog in the face. Andrew would not be made a fool of. 

Blonde hair falls, forgotten story through pain

A chainsaw through young flesh, one two three four

His bright dead coat painted red, he’s insane

They fall to pieces, a divided core

 

Is it my turn? I stole his darkened sight

Follow my thread out to a wind so fresh

A hurl, slump, drop, break, make the final flight

From the sound of a chainsaw through young flesh

 

“Take my hand!” Let your sword devour Death

Doubtlessly you save me and take the fall

My single fear turns dual of red dead breath

From a gruesome story hard to recall

 

With you gone, trapped as his permanent thresh

I run from the chainsaw that craves my flesh