Memories From A Broken Life

Watching the coffee drinkers

In a the chic café

The noise of people

Talking with muted

Voices

Quiet violence rushing

Into my ears

Hurting them

Memories of the terror

From earlier years awakens

Memories of torture day by day

Writing in subtle language

That do not heal the broken

Mind and heart

Saturday From Hell

This evening she hated me deeply

She had made the choice

To have a really bad day

Because I was not there

They stayed at home all day

Because of the rain and the total inability

To take the bus

Maybe I deserved it

Defining me as a small man

Deserving to die in a snowpack

She spat on me while my daughter

Who sat in my lap

No inhibitions at all

How bad I was

I needed psychiatric help

And then as always

Like a hand that turned

She was so sad, her colleague

Had not done enough

I put my daughter to sleep

Waiting for the next act

Of the bipolar drama

Good Hate

Hatred is a good

Thing

Glowing in the morning sun

Like red leafs in the autumn

It keeps alive

Less numb

Then the Buddhist denial

Strategy pretending

Strengths and righteousness

The cold numbing

Needed only by the generals and

Money collectors

Winter

Hate is a good thing

The more the better

Keeps your blood boiling

In cold weather

Anger keeps you going

in the fading light of a dying sun

Hope left us for warmer weather

Now we are here alone

In the white death

Feeding only of strong emotions

Nothing more

Or less

Soon we are all going to be dead

But before that

Before that

Let us find a warm place

Where we can

Rejoice and find love

In the sun

The hated house

Every day is the same

People walking by outside

Not taking notice of the hated house

The owner want it gone, but the city

wants it to stay since it been that way

For more than hundred years

So they fight about the might

Year after year

The owner closed shop after shop

Never taking care about the life that is here

The house strives on and for sure it won’t

Soon be gone, but neglected takes its toll

And it makes love fall but what can be done

The house has no choice it stays where it is

Saturday

I hate Saturdays

That meaningless day

Just sleep and quarrel with my love

That I hate

No hope just a day that needs to pass

As quickly as possible and everyone is depressed

In the family

Outside in the real world things are so different

With so much gratitude that I have that that world

exist

Paincollector

This day so filled with heavy burdens
And frustration I tried to climb out of the pit I am in
I feel so much pain

My children are denied their love
And I am stuck in put together a protokoll
That I said I do it to be nice, to be good, to be loved

I do not like myself today
I feel so deeply ashamed
I just want to get rid of the text
And forget who I amIMG_1994

Separation

So now we finally hate each other
me and she
I had enough long time ago
keeping quiet
keeping patient
I hate her
she hates me
so I guess we are even

On Suicide

When I finally
take my act
together 
and finally
decide to 
kill my self
a lot of people
will rejoice
they will feel
happy
we finally made
that strange and awkward man die
we finally will be 
more normal

My family will say
he were a difficult personality
a piece of work 
that could not 
and maybe should not exist
in modern society 
Let us now enjoy ourself 
In order to celebrate I 
suggest that you may
put my ashes in the garbage
I did never ask to exist
I did never ask to be
Life is pain
Life is suffering
And each day is another
reason to end life
There are no help to be had
but the spring comes anyway