Window

Christina Rosenvinge

I look at your window,
I see you get undressed,
murderous white body
on murderous white bed.

I look at your window
when you sleep at night
and your room fills up with
scratches of street light.

Here we go
straighten by caffeine,
no regrets
´cause neither of us is clean,
neither of us is clean.

Holy guardians watch for
your perfect little life,
organized by sections
like precious merchandise.

I look at your window,
static mademoiselle,
you are the kind that gets through
in this happy hell.

Here we go
straighten by caffeine,
no regrets
´cause neither of us is clean,
neither of us is clean.

I look at your window,
tiny lightened cell,
so afraid to find that
I just see myself.