Open the door
let the light in some more
that's drawing on the floor
two shadows.
Hairs, fingers, noses, lips,
dancing ond the scarred parquetry
That we walk all over now,
how appropriate.
You won't remember the scene when they tied your feet together
on the cross
tapping the rythym of your woman-blues
on the wooden cross.
And your high heels digging in
writing your initials on it,
upside down.
So we would know
a woman was here
and what a woman you are.
With a butter knife I poke the holes
waiting for your arrows
in my cardboar heart
and break my leg to tie a knot around your waist
so I can carry you with me crawling on my arms.
Around 3 AM they broke your door down,
coughing through the ciggarete smoke
with the stereo playing „I remember nothing“.
They ran through you pictures
and through your ashtray
they'd run trough identity if you had one
this is the love bueraucracy.
Scars on your wrists connect leaving you handcuffed
so the examination can begin.
„-who do you think you are?“
„-Im not sure myself. I don't think its a self.“