Since none of you had any suggestions on what I should write, I decided to set a timer for five minutes and simply write. Here is what came out of it:
we are crying onions all the time, sneezing our way through
I really hate those onions
Green onions everywhere
We swing with a few umbrellas here and there, hide a few times and then run downwards again
I’m sort of unsure of what to do when you roll down the hill but I say nothing I just think for a second and then you’re gone, into the grass you’re swallowed by a black hole in the lawn
it has taken you away, only a hand left in your mouth as you disappear into the soil.
I’m still unsure of what to think, I say a couple of things here and there, but I’m not sure you’ll hear it
So a few days later I trim the lawn
With some golden scissors like you requested
Your fingers as well, are trimmed
Bitten, a few of them
And then the onions, for rain of course.
But I forgot the umbrellas
And what an umbrella feeling it is
To be wandering about in the field of you, making everything so random
You press shuffle again
And I’m in your hallway
Forever repeating the knock on the door , with guitar strings flying through the air, I’m afraid they’ll cut my hair like they did yours
I know how you did it, during the concert. You were always too good for scissors and spiders and any kind of soul in that way
So I just walk a bit further down the hallway until you change again crawling up
Text belongs/(c) to me, obviously.