The woman

For once she wont shut up.

After half an eternity sitting in the window sill she’s suffocating me with words.Words of fog, exhaust, cigarettes and everything grey, including my own complection.

She paints her lips red and sits down next to me, leaning in I can feel her breath brush over my nerves as she whisper me songs of my men. My men who loves other women or drowns themselves in beer.

And I look up and ask her how she became this bitter, she laughs then. A laughter that twists and glimmers in the afternoon sun.

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