I feel sick,
Sick of your
Presence!
I rather pick,
Pick myself up
With my senses
You see me weak
But I am strong
You won't get
What you seek
...Your thinking is
So wrong!
Stop showing
Me, that you care
People with golden
Hearts are so rare
You are not
One of them, liar!
Stop temperamenting
My mood, else you'll
Burn in hell's fire
Of your hopeless,
Madeup stories
Let me live in peace
Without any
anxieties and worries...

©sim