Bitches in heat

pretty soon it will be nothing but feather beds and silk sheets. Pretty soon we'll hit 'Застава Ильича' and that's our last hit and wonder. That makes me wonder.

You.

Yes, you. You reading this. That makes you that one.

The one hit wonder of a police officer shot in 'ambush-style' attack, expected to survive and be the spring of the River Street. At the same time everyone is facing some sorts of barriers in life and nothing is more powerful than overcoming them. For,

when your heart stops beating you wouldn't look at the time. Death approaches faster if you move slower. And you will move slower and slower. Look at her!

She is the life of the party. Salve to your mobile. Get behind it, Satan. And the moon is low and knows more tricks than a monkey on a flagpole.

Are you blacking out? Am I losing it? In what way?

You are a dainty little fellow. Big black clouds of anger. I've got a private moment with my poison and I'm looking for madness. And it looks like you are as nancy as they say.

Back then. Where was I. Back then back then back then back then

... sheeeee... was the life of the party. That's when a heart stops. And that's when they are still moving. Faster than time. A life of a party. A mask of lust. An animal rather than human. The beauty is stripped from those faces. Their look is hideous and frightening. It horribly suggests bitches in heat.

The moment you have it you spend it. Sometimes well sometimes ill. The moment you have it you give it up and you were dead to begin with.

If you are repeating yourself then hell is your repetition. And bitches in heat.

Get out and stretch to your limit. Fray at the edges. Even if your ideal is set on the wrong object you'll be the greatest idealist. And if that Catcher in the Rye guy appears again -- avoid him as much as possible. We should've shot that fellow long time ago. Avoid those kids as much as possible. Avoid them. They are the faceless people with bolt-action rifles and they are set for that final embrace.

And if you are still reading this out of that obsequious alacrity. My cheeks are creeping with pity. The quiet elegance of her appeal when being the life of that party that's     that's      that's when that heart stops. And that's when we are still moving. Faster than time. Faster than that last embrace and kissless goodbye while the lips say 'yes'.

 That's the problem of mercy. And that's when your conduct is a rule of action for all men. And that's when

she was a life of a party

That's when you have a chance to acquire 100 of valuable skills that will keep you in a low income group all your life. That's when your ambivalent attitude toward any contradiction catches you on. And that's when that monkey on a flag pole will be the life of the party of us,

bitches in heat.

Or shooting stars. As if we hit it. In that strip bar or karaoke. We hit it and missed.

3 words for us,

bitches in heat.