Conman

Winter mornings

Are dark matters

We suffer, we the Slow moving creatures

Of this Earth

I’m just an ordinary conman

Doing my deeds

And sometimes getting paid for them

When we are gone we are forgotten

we the insects of mankind

That you need but always denies

As Well

Life is cold

And Earth is dark

As dark as earth

Should be

The stinking man

In front of me

Screams in his phone

Soon we will all

Be dead

Just like our forefathers

Might be just as well

Wednesday morning

The street had the usual colors, gray, black tarmac and dirty brown plaster. The usual copy and paste buildings from the drawing board of long dead architects in art noveau  style. The strait pompous street was oversized made for parades, tanks and trams (none of them present at the moment). Instead the steps of thousends of people and hushed conversation filled the air. The sunshine were dimmed by smoke from people making fire at to keep warm during the freezing  night. The street itself had potholes and some of the facades were missing. It was then I saw the boy, he could have been maybe seven, his black eyes starred out on the street with fear while he was hugging what must have been his grandmother and would not let her go.  Later that day the grenades would fall again on the pompous street and some more people would die.

Give us the right to die quick without pain

We have the right to die
as free men

Why do we have to live 
in a society that do not
want us? 
Let us die, let us leave
your dirty world filled
with worthless words
Filled with us parasites
This life has no meaning
we are just victims of God
and his experiment. 
This is funny 
I believe that I will
leave this planet
With a smile on my face
and move to a place
where there are other
Gods ruling the universe