She was chasing around and chasing, till the body couldn't stand it any more
and , having rebelled, it slept three days.
And she dreamt that she was in the sweet world of imagination
and she never had to clamber the winding AA staircase up
down the chasm of sobriety.


There high above ... somewhere higher than the rainbow is, the morals of fairy tailes known from

the childhood, which present themselves weakly, were changed by her imagination into fresh clothes.

Longing for herself, imagination turned life into the paradise by touching it with the opium rod.

Everything became play, sweetness, a miracle.


She was lacking the knack of using stimulants.


Calling each other a fool, love and youth breathed nothingness into everything.

The amusingly ridiculous eyes of the mother felt like wanting the moon next.

Having sharpened the taste of the paradise, the fog of magnificence remained on the pupils.

Untruthfulness converted itself to a merit.

And whipping with the favourite rod became food.

After many years the weakling touched the gates of the paradise and unhinged them.


Fine are three-day dreams and
Coala Bear's ones that last for decades.
Laughing faces are our treasure.

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