A Golden Ticket To Dolls’
Paradise
‘There were many girls and innocent boys,
With fuchsia fingers and curls made of lace,
They were underage dolls,
Secular ghosts aged,
Spending centuries in the peepholes’,
‘You see as I promised,
I keep my promises fresh,
No cyanotic bloated faces,
In our thriller there are only pretty faces,
With sluttishly pretty no names,
Some people are fish men,
Some people are fish,
The rest are a floating kind,
What did you see there?
Did you find what you were looking for?
Did you find your inspiration?
You were looking for her,
Right?’
‘They were underage sluts,
I don’t know for what reason,
Doll girls and blond boys were in fashion,
They were the biggest hit,
That particular dead season,
With big lollipops and snow white bows,
Suffocating fragile breath,
They didn’t work there,
They played on the wrong playground,
For twenty one and plus grown-ups,
Big aunts and big uncles,
Lived in the big world,
Where innocence was rare,
It lived on top of a big lollipop,
A couple of gramophone dwarfs,
Were awkwardly waltzing,
Hoping to the left,
Hoping to the right,
It was no escape for
hopes,
One night was more than enough,
Overnight they
would get much older,
But before their waltz was over,
Someone paved dizzy white roads,
On the skyscraper’s roof,
On the glass table top,
A doll was on a baby grand piano,
A long wooden pointer bullied her skirt,
She pretentiously screamed,
Three fiends were happily ravished,
Every time it flitted,
Revealing pink gingerbread bloomers,
Showy, double lace-trimmed,
I entered the next room,
Whipping air with long eye lashes,
A doll sat on a gilded stool,
With monotonous shrill in her voice,
She was reciting poems,
About macabre tile walls,
Reflected in Chopin mirrors,
I absorbed scents, colours and sounds,
Aura, spirits and facial twists,
Not paying a lot of attention to clients,
I bought a couple of rounds,
In places like this I always find,
Big acquaintances from the big world,
That stays
outside my dreams’.
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