on my days off i am a good girl, a good wife, a straight lady.
i wake up early, dress up in my favorite emerald skirt, Max Mara, Chanel ring..
i am all up for the pancakes, but the shop is closed, so i buy a roll cake instead.
along with all those strange ladies in their 30s, who amazingly just do not work.
sitting home, rotting, spending money that aint theirs. something i can not ever get.

they call me mom. it is a strange feeling, when you come back to your manor,
throw keys somewhere on the shelf, but they are already home, making it so warm.
we are.. how should i say it? not open, but quite welcoming. i often say that i hate it,
but i enjoy making my boys coffee, folding their clothes, going out to buy groceries.
sometimes your house is a mess, where official papers, money, blood towels and food
left overs are just mixed up in a hell. but i do not mind. it is not easy to raise a good gang.

it is good, that i can not bear my own children. i`d hate if i could, maybe. lucky i was, though.
i am so much better being a lover, than a wife or a mother.
already told that story a thousand times. it never changes.

no one can ever hurt me. or so they say.
when humans become bothering, i just gently roll up the sleeve.
i have the matching tattoo with my adorable king on the left hand.
somehow, usual people find it impulsing enough to give a 100m space.
thank you?

on weekdays i slash people down, count money and always on edge.
my eyes never return from black to blue. i am just always in distress.
every day the figures are fucked up and all i can hold on to is whiskey and sex.
oh, night. wish you knew how unbearable it is not to punch the shit out of them.
this saddens me so.

A. says, we should bear dignity and never haste.
i bear my dignity on weekends. and never more.