depression is something that will go away.
sooner or later, but it will leave you.

two and a half years ago, i was so depressed that i couldn't get up anymore. literally. for eight weeks.

and now i'm satisfied with myself. because I simply accepted my longing.

that's it.

belongingness: what does this word mean?

i would explain to my son that belongingness is something you can't touch but feel.
eden, my daughter, would get a kiss.

for many years i was looking for people i could belong to; i was on a quest. and this quest went along with fears and doubts. this quest was ******* the energy out of my mind and out of my soul...

how did this quest began, though? on a strange day, i was asked a very intimate question by a professor; a professor whose background i'm aware of; she asked me:

"do you have a religious or a political past?"

her question came out of nowhere. she blindsided me.
therefore, i wasn't prepared for an answer that could have satisfied her; regardless what my past really is about.

at this point of my life i wasn't aware about my ancestors; but the professor's questions caused me to become it.

"do you have a religious or a political past?"

i do know about my past now; but the answer i gave this lady was not sufficient for her. by the end of our conversation she said:

"i am sorry. can't shake your hand now. have to go toilet."

that was it. oh my, was i disappointed and frustrated; because this certain lady would have opened many doors for me; doors for which she administrated the keys.

you know, there are days in your life that want to you to be desperate. and yes: i was desperate. about being rejected. and that i wasn't able to have access to dorrs that lead to important conferences, meetings and to important people.

but you know what? it doesn't matter anymore.

because here, on hellopoetry, i have found a place of belogningness.
and what my real past is will remain hid: a secret in a purple-colored casket i have the key to.

hellopoetry is a place of belongingness. not just for me but for many many kind-hearted people. and i am not stating this from an opportunist's view: i can feel you guys here and sometimes i sense kindred spirits.

1+1 equals 2

pa + pa equals:






papa

is










good.

that's why i am trying to adopt the good
and an endeavor should be treated with dedication

dear love i need you
fill my soul
you feel me...

some people condemn others.
simply cause they have been condemned by them.

are you being condemned or do you condemn others?
(mostly it's both.)

what's easier to wrestle with?

Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
Albania needs hellopoetry
Algeria needs hellopoetry
Andorra needs hellopoetry
Angola needs hellopoetry
Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry
Argentina needs hellopoetry
Armenia needs hellopoetry
Australia needs hellopoetry
Austria needs hellopoetry
Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry

The Bahamas needs hellopoetry
Bahrain needs hellopoetry
Bangladesh needs hellopoetry
Barbados needs hellopoetry
Belarus needs hellopoetry
Belgium needs hellopoetry
Belize needs hellopoetry
Benin needs hellopoetry
Bhutan needs hellopoetry
Bolivia needs hellopoetry
Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry
Botswana needs hellopoetry
Brazil needs hellopoetry
Brunei needs hellopoetry
Bulgaria needs hellopoetry
Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry
Burundi needs hellopoetry

Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry
Cambodia needs hellopoetry
Cameroon needs hellopoetry
Canada needs hellopoetry
Central African Republic needs hellopoetry
Chad needs hellopoetry
Chile needs hellopoetry
China needs hellopoetry
Colombia needs hellopoetry
Comoros needs hellopoetry
Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry
Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry  
Costa Rica needs hellopoetry
Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry
Croatia needs hellopoetry
Cuba needs hellopoetry
Cyprus needs hellopoetry
Czech Republic needs hellopoetry

Denmark needs hellopoetry  
Djibouti needs hellopoetry
Dominica needs hellopoetry
Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry

East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry
Ecuador needs hellopoetry
Egypt needs hellopoetry  
El Salvador needs hellopoetry
Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry
Eritrea needs hellopoetry
Estonia needs hellopoetry
Eswatini needs hellopoetry
Ethiopia needs hellopoetry

Fiji needs hellopoetry
Finland needs hellopoetry
France needs hellopoetry

Gabon needs hellopoetry
The Gambia needs hellopoetry
Georgia needs hellopoetry
Germany needs hellopoetry
Ghana needs hellopoetry
Greece needs hellopoetry
Grenada needs hellopoetry
Guatemala needs hellopoetry
Guinea needs hellopoetry
Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry
Guyana needs hellopoetry

Haiti needs hellopoetry
Honduras needs hellopoetry
Hungary needs hellopoetry

Iceland needs hellopoetry
India needs hellopoetry
Indonesia needs hellopoetry
Iran needs hellopoetry
Iraq needs hellopoetry
Ireland needs hellopoetry
Israel needs hellopoetry
Italy needs hellopoetry

Jamaica needs hellopoetry
Japan needs hellopoetry
Jordan needs hellopoetry

Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry
Kenya needs hellopoetry
Kiribati needs hellopoetry
Korea, North needs hellopoetry
Korea, South needs hellopoetry
Kosovo needs hellopoetry
Kuwait needs hellopoetry
Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry

Laos needs hellopoetry
Latvia needs hellopoetry
Lebanon needs hellopoetry
Lesotho needs hellopoetry
Liberia needs hellopoetry
Libya needs hellopoetry
Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry
Lithuania needs hellopoetry
Luxembourg needs hellopoetry

Madagascar needs hellopoetry
Malawi needs hellopoetry
Malaysia needs hellopoetry
Maldives needs hellopoetry
Mali needs hellopoetry
Malta needs hellopoetry
Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry
Mauritania needs hellopoetry
Mauritius needs hellopoetry
Mexico needs hellopoetry
Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry
Moldova needs hellopoetry
Monaco needs hellopoetry
Mongolia needs hellopoetry
Montenegro needs hellopoetry
Morocco needs hellopoetry
Mozambique needs hellopoetry
Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry

Namibia needs hellopoetry
Nauru needs hellopoetry
Nepal needs hellopoetry
Netherlands needs hellopoetry
New Zealand needs hellopoetry
Nicaragua needs hellopoetry
Niger needs hellopoetry
Nigeria needs hellopoetry
North Macedonia needs hellopoetry
Norway needs hellopoetry

Oman needs hellopoetry

Pakistan needs hellopoetry
Palau needs hellopoetry
Panama needs hellopoetry
Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry
Paraguay needs hellopoetry
Peru needs hellopoetry
Philippines needs hellopoetry
Poland needs hellopoetry
Portugal needs hellopoetry

Qatar needs hellopoetry

Romania needs hellopoetry
Russia needs hellopoetry
Rwanda needs hellopoetry

Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry
Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry
Samoa needs hellopoetry
San Marino needs hellopoetry
Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry
Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry
Senegal needs hellopoetry
Serbia needs hellopoetry
Seychelles needs hellopoetry
Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry
Singapore needs hellopoetry
Slovakia needs hellopoetry
Slovenia needs hellopoetry
Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry
Somalia needs hellopoetry
South Africa needs hellopoetry
Spain needs hellopoetry
Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry
Sudan needs hellopoetry
Sudan, South needs hellopoetry
Suriname needs hellopoetry
Sweden needs hellopoetry
Switzerland needs hellopoetry
Syria needs hellopoetry

Taiwan needs hellopoetry
Tajikistan needs hellopoetry
Tanzania needs hellopoetry
Thailand needs hellopoetry
Togo needs hellopoetry
Tonga needs hellopoetry
Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry
Tunisia needs hellopoetry
Turkey needs hellopoetry
Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry
Tuvalu needs hellopoetry

Uganda needs hellopoetry
Ukraine needs hellopoetry
United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry
United Kingdom needs hellopoetry
United States needs hellopoetry
Uruguay needs hellopoetry
Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry

Vanuatu needs hellopoetry
Vatican City needs hellopoetry
Venezuela needs hellopoetry
Vietnam needs hellopoetry

Yemen needs hellopoetry

Zambia needs hellopoetry
Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry

my past is filled with oedipal encounters:
many men i needed to rival

today i unintentionally travelled (really?)
today i involuntarily travelled (no way)
today i travelled into my past:

memories of many men that i needed to rival.
due to my fatherless childhood i didn't have
a man to compete against; that's why i JUMPED at countless chances to do so. none of these conflicts happened by chance.

i picked strangers to compete against.
but then there was this day. a certain day. a secret night.

since then, i have gradually and later on gently overcome my need to compete.

i was bewildered today because i competed against another man. why?

out of the dark, i developed an affection for a woman younger than me; a brief moment of ****** interest. the competitor involved walked her home after a meeting the three of us had been together.

while they were strolling down the street, i followed them. i wanted to see what they were doing. i wanted to observe how they observed each other's attraction.

did so for a couple of minutes; they didn't take notice of me; or they were playing dead while their mouths were overfilled with squishing sounds of saliva.

and then ––  as promptly as old patterns of rivalry had emerged ––
i lost my affection for this young woman.

affection left my soul like a spirit leaves a dead body. the affection vanished into thin air since it couldn't find a shelter in my soul. so this wired affection went on a quest for another creature.

i didn't say goodbye. just wrote something down.

speaking for millions of
people who were and who have been suffering from addiction:

i do have to thank the two of you.
the tradition of the twelve steps had not existed before you created and established them.

you have a shelter in my
mind and in my soul.

God bless you.
R.I.P. Bill and Bob

monday: putting ***** plates aside
tuesday: ignoring the ***** plates
wednesday: being bothered by the ***** plates
thursday: intending to do the dishes
friday: forgetting to do the dishes
saturday late afternoon: meeting a woman in a pub who tells daddy that she has a dirt allergy
saturday evening: arduously scrapping off fatty chunks from the dishes, groaning about such a hard kind of labor and thinking about easier ways of cleaning ***** plates.

from saturday night until sunday morning: making love to the woman from the pub; putting ***** plates...

entering a classroom that
is not a classroom

my pupils inside: i haven't seen them for a long time
i want them to listen to me
yet the pupils aren't listening; they don't (want to) perceive me.
all the time i look at them, they look into another direction.

they aren't rebelling or trying to sabotage my lesson;
my lesson that isn't a lesson.

it's an encounter between an older person and
younger persons who aren't young anymore but
who haven't grown up yet.

the pupils changed into beings-in-between.

i can sense that they have become independent.
the pupils don't need a teacher anymore;
they aren't ready for making a living either.  

many teachers need to be needed.
most pupils want to be autonomous.

teachers will be disappointed by the end of a day.
pupils dislike school by the end of most lessons.

dear athena, that's wired. isn't it?
therefore we need to think about it. we need to ask ourselves:

WHAT has to be changed?

every written text
regardless what it is about and
how it might be categorized

every written text
is a ghetto of words.

since words do not decide
who they are paired with;
they neither have a body nor a will.

but take at look at their "ghettos":
that humans call "fiction":
marvelous places made of fantasies.

look at them.

ermh...

for... real: could i please be a word in my next form of existence?

how disturbingly insidious you are.
you must hate me, don't you?
i mean who are you?!

you're playing tricks on me like crazy. that's for certain. and if anything is for certain in our drug-plagued country, then it is this certainty: that you ― the child-like dictator ― want to rule over me.

let me explain to the reader why i am saying so:

an hour ago, i was taking my son to kindergarten. closely to the chest my little daughter eden; sleeping in a baby carrier.

after i had dropped off my son, ideas for new poems were going through my head.

i eventually decided to write a poem on drugs, written from the perspective of various mind-altering substances.

well. fine.

i got home. my wife took eden out from the baby carrier. i was ready to write. only one cigarette first. smoking on the balcony. don't need my kids to inhale toxical fog. and don't need to know them about my smoking habit.

suddenly, out of the blue (no: out of the dark) ―

out of the dark, you made my heart beating faster. my heart was racing. my heart was banging against my chest.
secretly, you creeped through the area between skin and soul.
seconds later, you made it somehow to reach my mind.

inside my head, you were not saying anything. i don't hear voices and i'm not crazy. (that's the second certainty i am gaining from writing this poem.)

you're not a talker, child-like dictator. you're a quiet addict, depressed and scared to speak with others. because you do fear people, closeness and love. you fear them so much that you want to do drugs in order to feel something else than fear. and to numb how afraid of love you are.

a poor creature you are. but your attempt to ****** me quietly today: it failed.

and you know why? because i have friends. and many of these friends have been struggling with their own dictatorships. feel me.

i won't let you make my decisions.
gonna stay clean.

for me. for my family.

adios amigo. don't pressure me like you do. try to love me as i love you.

try to love.
try to.
try.

mikey

your name stems from a divine place, baby and when i'm calling you baby, i mean it. cause you're my baby.

and one day, you won't be anyones "my" anymore; but you will be my daughter until i...

this verse is about the delight in your cheeks when you're smiling.
this verse is about the way you are happy for being with me and
the way i am happy for being with you, eden.

and if someone insists that babies only cry and bother their parents: it's not like that. full stop.

you are the opposite of a full stop: a sunrise.

these verses are about how you talked to me today: you were looking at me and made sounds with your tongue.

these sounds do have a meaning for you, regardless that you are not reflecting on your talking like older kids, teenagers or adults do.

(as they sometimes do; does donald thinks about what he twitters all day long? who cares? i do. but that's another poem.)

eden, the sounds you make are meaningful to me. because you simply show me that you recognize me as your daddy. and that you want me to feel and remember that.

and my feelings for you: they are proof of our kinship. our blood.

nothing more to add, baby.
your daddy.

www.aa.org
www.na.org
www.ca.org

You don't have to ask for help. Not anyone.
Simply meet them.
In person, online or via phone.

Anonymously and for free.
They are unprejudiced.

dear tracy
i am listening to your words
listening to your voice

dear tracy i am listening to you because
you calm me

a morning is given grace
by your voice but first of all:
forgiveness

how could a day forgive?
heaven yeah: it can!

since a day is god
and god is a day
and god is inside everything
and god is inside everyone
and god forgives
god, without words, made me feel how to forgive

it's a lack of compassion that made the
cold-hearted so cold-hearted
the giants of our earth will fall
sooner or later.

i am talking about goliath
i am talking about donald
i am talking about supercilious creatures
who fight against themselves day by day
but who celebrate autonomy

dear tracy
i am listening to your words
listening to your voice

dear tracy
i am listening to you because
you're a good person.

a good person does the right thing;
and by spreading a strong spiritual vibe
you have been doing the right thing

dear tracy please:

spread the vibe
     and then

spread the vibe
     and then

speak the word.

"hell yeah" changes into...






"heaven yeah"

were opened to






**** human beings:


22 murders in 2019 of Black/Trans Woman:
https://mshmemphis.org

people who do something excessively:

shopping
smoking
drug-abusing
having ***
and many more actions

are on a quest.

sooner or later, some of these people discover something much bigger.

something that balances their
minds and hearts.

being placeless is exciting.
being loved without disguise can't be described.

a man who is about fifty years old has been suffering from
dementia. (demented people can't remember many things anymore; and they might have a hard time to say anything.)

his name is m.

m. is a silent guy. he talks barely and doesn't tend to look at
people.

i lived together with him for eleven days. most of our time, we were hanging around, smoking cigarettes.

one day, i put some music on. by aventura. one of their songs is called "obsesion". and when m. listened to his song, he changed.

his eyes were glowing with joy.
for real.

i asked my daddy: "do you trust me?"
and he answered.

between mind and soul
there is a strength-giving rock.
that rock protects all of us...



YouTube:

Xavier Naidoo - Der Fels
// Allein Mit Flügel -
Live aus dem Mannheimer Schloss

i just wrote a letter to a good-hearted man.

it is night where i am right now.
while writing, i heard my father's steps.

he slowly approached me; mistrust in
his face.

he thought i would have done something
bad. i had not done so.

five minutes i spoke to him; i needed him to
believe me since i will travel to another city
later today.

i do not want to say "farewell" in disharmony.

yet, i am not disappointed or angry.
everyone acts weakly from time to time.
i forgive my father.

before going to bed i will talk to somebody
else.

somebody who is everywhere and always with me.

affectionately
mikey

i am threatened by someone:
every day

in my head
behind my eyes
behind my flesh
in the land of my soul there lives a dictator

to whom i listened far too long
this dictator wants to **** me
fully and entirely

it may sound contradictory:
i do not hate him since
he is weak and overfilled with doubts

his shouts are coming from my
childhood; he looks similar as i looked
when i was four years old.
(only similar, uuuuuh yeeah)

the child-like dictator is disguised in a dress of childly needs.
his spirit is not spiritual.
he is only child-like:
a copy.

and his insidious siren calls:
now they sound like the voice
of a lonely man.

believe me, child-like dictator:
i do tolerate you as a part of myself.

be certain, dictator:
i won't follow your ideas, needs and orders.

you may stay.
i walk freely.

dear reader,
will you please help me?

i am starving!

whoever you are
wherever you are
whenever you can:

feed me with money
don't you worry about ostensible risks for yourself your soul or your body:

rumors. spread by liars
who dare to call me a drug

truly, i'm starving for you.

sincerely
your favorite substance

December 16th, 2019  


Hereby it is stated that December 16th
Shall be proclaimed as a national holiday.

From now on this holiday shall be called

POET'S DAY

1.) On Poet's Day, poets do not have to work and receive a publicly funded donation.

2.) On Poets Day, readers don't have to work and receive a publicly funded donation.

3.) On Poets Day, poets and readers are encouraged to meet in public to share thoughts and love.

when someone loves me
i am afraid of it

i am talking about
undisguised love
day by day
tiny bits of myself...







...take off my mask.

"he-ll-o beau-ti-ful, i-am-a-ro-bot" a manly robot said.
let's call him LIAM.

"o-my-that-can't-be-a-co-in-ci-den-ce" the mate of
his electronic soul, a womanly robot, answered. her name was EMMA.

"well-i-think-eve-ry-thing-should-be-fi-ne-then", liam
reciprocated. "we-can-go-now."

emma's robotic face glowed in red colors.
"hmmmmh... i-am-not-so-su-re-ab-out-that", she told liam.

"why-not??"

"nor-mal-ly-, a-ro-bot-wo-uld-not-act-as-hu-man-ly-as-yo-u-a-re-do-ing. how-e-ver, i-on-ly-told-yo-u that-i-wo-uldn't-be-so-su-re."

liam's entire construction started to beam with joy:

"do-es-this-me-an that-yo-u-want-me?"

emma smiled at liam.

"yo-u-bet!" she shouted in happiness.
soon, the two robots became one. and they never were separated.

never.

ten minutes ago
i was talking to a woman
whose background i'm
aware of

this woman was pretty and she looked
at me with ****** interest

however: i moved my left arm in
a way that is related to my background as
a fatherless boy

rejection in her eyes the consequence

BUT:

i will never stop to move my arms as i learned moving them
–– precisely this way –– in my childhood

nobody –– male female animal or object –– is able to change this:
i do not need anybody trying.

feel me. that's how i am.

self-acceptance. self-love. courage.

"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.

(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)

"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."

both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.

the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.

"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
  
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.

a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.

suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.

fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."

the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.

fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.

bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.

the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.

writing without music is like











eating without food

there is a cage
inside this cage
there is a man
inside this man
there is his soul
inside his soul



ghosts are debatting
about the pros and cons
of darkness and light

between three oceans
silver rocks and the desert
is a place

undiscovered;
a secret that no one knows about
hidden so openly:

a secret right in front of
your eyes.

it's never cold there
it's never hot there

this place is populated by
only one creature:

GOLEM

countless nights
the same dream:

awaking in black water
dressed in jeans and a
rugby-shirt

legs under water so i
am trying to protect my
cell phones from

damage

family:
nothing worth more

i am listening to my
people's words

i am listening

i am
i will be

monday next week would
have been my last day
inside the rehab

today i was told by another patient
that he has nothing to lose
anymore

he confessed to me what he
might do very soon

it was horrifying!

i will not write about it

therefore I am going to
leave here today
in the evening i'll be
meeting good-hearted people
who believe in a
power much bigger than
all of us

a good man does the right thing
that's why i want the good in my life

may god bless us all.

the ward physician said
to an addict: YOU are going to relapse
anyhow

the chief resident told
me: if you want to have  
the numbness in your
right shin examined
you are free to leave

my reaction was a
calm one

no resentment because
i found something
inside the rehab
in the addict's stories

in their human faces
i found a healing secret

righteousness
care
siblings

mom
dad
son
wife

eden

are built by






human beings

have you guys
ever been to
großburgwedel?

it's in germany

i am there right now
to have my right leg
examined

sure: it's raining
the sky is grey
and all that
well well

but one thing i am
certain of:
i wouldn't come here again
except i want to gain
certainty

i have nothing against
the people
from großburgwedel

i simply don't want to
live in grey lands:

grey faces
grey voices
and many right-winged persons

I LOVE COLORS
I LOVE THE GERMAN AND THE ETHIOPIAN FLAG
I LOVE MY BI-RACIAL FAMILY

kiko i'm breathing
your lust's air
storms of our lifes
and our pasts

we share childhood memories
we sleep together
we feel each other

we are one body now
a body made of
two halves

we are one person now
no need to hide anything

playful lights
warm winds open windows
the ocean inside our body

we are coming together

long ago
the dead would drink
from a certain river to forget
their mortal lives

shades and silent voices
populated blank shores
as the dead patiently
waited to forget

their memories vanished into
thin air
yellow heavens
sparkling bits of color
would lighten up
the dark lights of day

shadows scurried from place
to placelessness
voices sighed and you couldn't
tell if it was the sound of last breaths

gökhan is turkish
it means: ruler of heaven

first time i met you:
september 3rd 1993
first day at school

we looked at each other
we wanted to sit together
we became friends

how sturdy you were
people always thought you
were much older
but me?

i had a babyface
hated my babyface
wanted to look older due to my
fatherless childhood
always wanted to be my own dad
wouldn't work though

so gökhan became my daddy
father figure and protector
i looked up to you my man

ruler of heaven

six years later you died of cancer
i rushed to the hospital
countryside germany

when entering your room
aware of your death
i saw your stiff body

and you were smiling
i will never forget that
gökhan

an african-turk growing
up in germany 1990s
called gökhan tatchouop
lost the battle against cancer
sixteen years old

and he really died with a smile
because he was a good man
who did the right thing

as i get older year by year
i could be gökhan's dad by now

you're with me

our car is burning and there is nobody
to drive it
our car is going in circles


8

been living in a rehab
fifth day
telling myself: don't relapse


STAY

you want to stick
around don't you?

you wanna be part
of our crowd?

well you gotta
learn something now;
it's painful like ****

you'll never be one of us
you'll never be one of us

don't ask and don't try
a second time
we know your family
we know where you live

we won't say a word:

omertà