Sleeping beauty

Urban legend
Maria Khamzina
The city looks like a dried cake, cream smeared pavement. There is known hitherto shit, I touched him for the first time, a warm hand in the cold side, Sangiovese caress the Ghost...White neon dove looks at the streets with reproach - people are like people, and I'm another, you look - Archangel bird! Rolling, rolling my ball, I light the last match...
Silence! Lookee here! Not city-grad! Two standing at the gate of heaven.

And she says - I'm tired, like a hundred dogs as a lump of chewing gum stuck under the table, at least you day get a grip, have a no bull, do not know how to be a tiger - at least don't be a dick, you I was baked as porridge, dad, eat, I would have a year ago, yet left you as the earth is of you, soulless ghouls...
And then turn on the city bells.
And they lead a break day, in haughty all the other votes are not heard...
From two remained silent, the curve of a shadow, and they wear it together is doomed. They are weak, Lord, pale, like the sprouts that each other are drawn in black, charcoal haze...
Don't scare them with an angel. Don't send them to the guides. You leave them here on their asphalt land. Will be down to earth, this faith will get all that is not happiness - at the top of the head in hot fuzz?
Hear that, city? Someone struck seven? Are you teaching someone to count to two again?

I walk through you like a shadow, you don't see me, I know...The March dusk, yesterday, the rhythm of battered pavement, the wind smells like the sand of the sea, everywhere a quarrelsome bird flocks...Writhing past under lock and key, old age under my skin grows...I freeze dumb post as Salome without a blanket in the throat pounding stuffy coma...
Two who survived without a halt.
And she says without you I'm blind, you are forever my darling, I want, I do, Yes. I'm ashamed of my own silence, I'm nailed to you stone "forever", help me, you hear, without a voice. without a soul, I kiss you, my lips is wine...
He was silent, and his throat rustling, like tracing paper, dead "still".
It sees the city, painted by spring, he's shaking sides, grabs the reins.
I don't think I'll sleep again tonight. Twelve of these bells are beating on me. I am a silent witness, and my fate is simple-I die with everyone who exhaled into the void...Take pity on me, you hear, my neon simpleton, electronic angel, blinking on the fly.
I would have wanted...but the memory will take its course. And a couple will every living creature. My cruel city. Stone beast. On asphalt-two...
The surviving words.