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

Family

The small world

Is a violent place

A way to destroy

Yourself and your feeling

With the help of your

Family members

That say they love you

By beating you to death

And then blaming you

For the consequence

Evening

Friday a good day

For fraud and getting

Drunk after work

I did neither

Just listening to the wind

And the children playing