Not here

Low, low

Almost underground

I write my poem

At evening, at night

At times when I realise

That the only thing

I can do to keep my

Self sane is write and writ

Into eternity

Far, far from here

Cover me

The night creates a black velvet cover
around my battered mind
I am really lost
Going into overdrive
In horror of being
What I am
And what I am not
Ever and ever
I keep on fighting
With my mind, text and family
The night is dark and full of peace
BBC playing Bach
And even the bustling street
Turns more silent than ever
Living in the right time
Living in the wrong time
Living

 

 

Full moon

The moon is full tonight

I am alone

Trying to write

Today manage to read

My work

It took a lot of energy

Soon home

 

Instinct

The more I write and work

The less likely I am to commit suicide

But does it change anything?

I have no idea

I am not vise nor smart

I just exist on the terms given to me

Some people can choose their destiny

I can´t

I am more like an ant

Writing

When I write 
Nagging, nagging
NAGGING the mind
Again again and agin
aging thoughts without grace
I live here and the there