On Suicide

Once upon a time my grandmother

Tried to commit suicide

She swallowed a huge

Number of yellow pills

That my mother had

Prescribed to her

As the good doctor and daughter

She was at the time

Sleeping pills

My grandfather found her

In bed with the faded light

And traffic noise from

The street below

On a winter afternoon

I was about ten at the time

My mother told me that

It was not my fault

Not so much, just a little

And any way the pills

Would not kill her

Most to blame was my grandfather

Who did not fulfill her wish

Of the perfect summerhouse

I kept those words in memory

Creating new disasters in

The far future

That is now

The Boy

Once I was

A happy young man

Being a fool and

Dropping out of school

Traveling the world

Met rich and poor

I opened many closed

Door

Sensing my limits

I met this beautiful girl

From home out there

In the world

I stood there

Naked and gay

In front of her

High as a kite

She told me

I love you

Just the way You are

Just do not Take it too far

And that was the way it had to be

Some but not to much

I started to wither away

All my dreams grow old

And in the end there was

Not much left

I had gone old

The children had left

For school

Lonely and lost

I had to find

New dreams

Overworked

Tired

I will not save you

Can Not Fight For My Rights

I am trying to fight

But I cannot

Lift my own

Hand

For more than

Two weeks

I have been trying

To write this letter

Saying

How important

It is for me to have

The place that I love most in this world

But I cannot write a comma

Nothing, can be put together

I have such a fear

I know I am going to lose

But still

I cannot lift a finger

To say

I  want this

I need that

I have the right

My father stop calling

No one calls

I am in silence

They are silent

And I am not calling

Anymore ever

Still I have to

I know I have to

Let me go down

To the water

And relive me of my burden

 

Dysfunction

Decaying dysfunctional family

Frustration, fighting and mentally ill people

We pretend that everything is so normal

Slowly she is making a mess of my boy

Giving to him the doubtful gift of ambivalence

And depleted will

There is always a reason for this and that

It is just that reason does not change the world

 

Trees change the world