Sour lemons

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Lemonade.
I made it for you.
I’ve put no sugar.
Took the water from the sink.
I cut the lemon with my favourite knife.
I love that knife more than lemonade.
I’ve never left it alone and cold.
Blade.
I cleaned it leisurely with my tongue.
I’ve saved it just for you.
Took it from the neighbour boy
When he sticked it in his chest.
I loved the way that boy’s voice sounded.
I have it recorded on a tape
From one day when he said ‘Hello’
He didn’t even know.
Lemonade.
I like it sour.
At least not bitter.
Put some for you in the pink mug.
I drank the rest right from the vase.
Watched your mug left on the table.
Where are you?
I can’t even remember your name.
Blade.
I bit the bark left in the sink.
I took the knife in my hand.
I put some blood in your lemonade.
Watched it change it’s taste.
I’ve left it red and bitter behind.
I looked at the door.
Saw the keys.
Unlocked it and gone
Back to my favourite neighbour.
The door is opened like I’ve left it.
I come to it every time I fell alone.
I sleep near this door.
Lemonade.
I go in and I close my eyes.
I know this apartment well.
All the way to the kitchen.
Opening my eyes I wish I wouldn’t
Cause what I’ve seen is hard to take.
Went back to my apartment and came with your lemonade.
I tried to drink it.
Felt so wrong.
You were lying on the ground.
Blade.
I came closer to you.
Watched you in the black eyes.
If it wasn’t for all that blood I would never know.
It’s not the boy’s voice that fascinated.
It’s not even his eyes.
It’s him.
Every you is him.
Every you is dead.
You.
Dead.
But you shouldn’t be worried.
Now you have lemonade.

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