em... in the current western "european"
dialectic / narrative...
or whatever you might call it...
i'm not european...
   i'm "european"...
                      i'm merely eastern...
oh... right...
so you've been fed some slavic
*****...
you "just" forgot there's a male
tongue in tow?
                      right... right...
                you know...
                        i could have actually
cared
for your anglican quasi-******
brides...
                         i am wedded
to a forgetfulness to care...
         my cure for the experience
of apathy...
which... "your people"...
prescribed me with!
                     i dream of...
darknened hollow tunnels...
  places...
where neither the h'americans
or the english will never find themselves
frequenting,
whether atiired
with a pair of dangling *******
or not.

mid-vid
zu machen du weinen...
                      doch?
ich weinen für ein gründ...
   die tod,
mein schatten...
             und eine synonym.

mitte-gründ volk...
uns...
             "die volk"...
  middle people...
hardly a russian...
nor an albanian...
not a romanian...
or a bulgarian..

          "something" mid...
but never quiet equipped
to justify an expression
of itching an existence
from horror...

            but... when you brought
to my awareness
a "question"
of the anglo-sax brides
***** by pakistani
men?

                oh...
      i'm... supposed to care?
where, the ****, were, you?
where was i?
   isolated...
         thinking about
spelling mistakes!
      you, you were:
i hope... stating the *******
obvious...
you wish for slang via
citing brick top...
           you... *******... ****!

but me?
i'm always east...
take your *******
****-bride...
and... ******* where
i won't hurt you...
Mars... peferably...
me?
i'm paying the right attitude
for patience...
i have the uninhibited
patience
of punching myself...
    
no... the ***** won't
"get it"...
      they're waiting
for the *****-whip-flush
of sentences...
i wanna fight...
but...
all they have is
a carboot champion
of a waiting game...
no... i want to fight...

i already told them...
i'm quiet happy
succumbing to the pain...
i enjoy pain...

like... deaf... pawn...
upon 'earing ears...
and... still not difference...
that's what gives you
licking off a german
boot of a language,
and not mingling
with the stratum of
the wind-rush of Jamaican
        cricketeers...

the little-love
that remained of me for
this language...
            to further express
it...
      hell... it has to be
accomplished in an
almost buddhist fashion.