How they fake
How they copy
How they fear
How they dream scared dreams in tears.

How they drink from bored mugs
How they live like slugs
How they make money cigarettes
How they pray for money bags

How they crave recognition
How they bend for the system
How they brag ignorance
How they weep romance

How they shove it up their *****
How they're continuously embarrassed
How they play the game
How they never blame

How they praise intuition
How they preach superstition
How they form their private cliques
How they corporate religion´

Will this joke ever end?
Sorry, no, I will not bend.

I am not here for a reason.
I have a reason because I am here,
And don't start drawing your conclusions or jumping on me;
Reason was not bestowed upon me
There were no gods meddling my own businesses.
Reason was owned, earned and passed on by those,
At least some of those who share my blood.

Then there were some trying to fool them, to fool me,
Yet, I am not here for a reason,
I have a reason because I am here
I've earned it, I said it.

Leave your imaginary salvation heroes, happy self-degrading and sexless humorless slaves and martyrs.

As also --- and I am truly sorry for this ---
You are not here for a reason,
You have a reason, a passion, a drive, a **** provocative imaginative mind because you are here
You've earned it, **** it.

And if you don't have is because you are not looking enough.

Fools live obsessed by lives they don't have
                      fake fantasies
                               sweet dreams
                                          yet at night they shake with fear;
Slugging vomitin' 'n' ******* from their mouths
                                "truths" and "worries"
                                            with their "beliefs"
                                                     Oh so sensitive;
******* on thumbs with their small hands they go
                                            happy they bought that car
                                                         **** because of lipstick
                                                                  intelligent as they bark trash.

You could all be ******* me instead, you'd do a better job.

My knee stings
               My back curls
                            I need to move a little,
                            I need to go
                                       Feel the wind, even brittle.
Fall down
              Back up
Push it away and make it.
Don't you know?
Same as ever,
               Lightweight dynamic whistle.

...Sweating I fall down
                   And let the clouds lift me up.

End of april break of may
Music humming in mind scratching
My stomach, lightly yet
Enough to send burning adrenaline, hormone which makes me
Whistle.

Coffee well taken on a wooden table
With friends laughing generously
Silly jokes make the air more breathable,
Back to lunch
Writing this poem on the cafeteria
Thinking of you and your broken smile.