Blue

Now I know. Now I know for sure. My mother is reading my blog, every morning before going to work. Does this change things? Can I still say fuck off and you big piece of shit and hold your prick, baby, until I come back home and wrap it in sugar and eat it? Can I still say how much I love you, although you are never there, how much I think of you in Liverpool? Once or twice, I know now, you think of me. You know that I have never spilled my drink, I have never shat on the brink of the wall. But I do not have blue hair or small lips. I have brown hair. Is that the prerequisite? Is that the prerequisite for your love. My blue hair for you darling.