X I V . C R Y S T A L L A D I E S
The City of Ravens owes its name to the eight ravens that guard it day and night. They take turns sleeping and you can always know which one is on duty by checking direction of the wind. This cold wind is the flapping of their wings on the back of your neck.
No wonder that the women who live there are cold. And no wonder they drive you mad. It’s like licking ice. You stick to it. I think I might die in the arms of one of them. Anyone.
But not yet. By now I choose to keep on fucking around. I choose to live.
Madame Luciole’s Casino is always open for me. And though I know it’s a lie I love the way her girls look at me through the glass. Fragile but tough. Pretending I’m not there. And feeling, for an instant, I’m in a room where I don’t have to be with myself makes me almost happy. It reminds me of a time when I couldn’t remember who I was. In which I forgot about myself because I had someone more important to think about.
But that was too long ago.
You ask me if I’m okay. What do you think? I’m living a life that I didn’t choose in a city I was dragged to by eight fucking black birds. I don’t give a shit if they were ravens or pigeons. I had no choice.
And now I’m not there with you. And you’re not telling me you love the smell of our bodies when they mix after fucking. Well, making love.
But I don’t want you to worry about me. I know I’m doing what I must. And although there is little chance of surviving, if I succeed I will be immortal.
The bad news is that, if I can not kill myself again, I may have to spend the rest of my life all on my own.
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