Oh dear little darling, dear little sister
sorry for breaking your leg in twister
Sorry for setting fire to your dolls
and for eating all your cinnamon rolls
But I love you dear sister with all my heart
Love you to the end
Loved you from the start.

oh **** oh **** oh ****!
I missed the garbage truck
I have a bin full of trash
full of people I want to smash.
Pain is the only thing they give
a people plague that pollutes  
the life I live.
But when the garbage truck arrives
and it will tomorrow morning
I will throw these people out
without a single warning.

This is not a poem
This is a painting
This is called modern art.

I once a got a present
It was danish design
A hoptimist. I was confused.
No function. Not pretty.

Just expensive...

I realized I was a hoptimist.

So I kept it...

I always spell wierd wrong.
It takes me 1.35 minutes to cook minute rice.
And it takes me more than an instant to cook instant noodles.
I pull doors that says push.
I once tried to give a blind man a high five.
And I killed my own cactus because I gave it too much water.

But I am really good at making grilled cheese sandwhich. So I might survive.

I am speaking with a homeless man.
He got 7 dollars in his pocket.
A smile on his face.
And his heart is warmer than most penthouses.
I listen to his old voice while I listen
To music by a star who is far more poor.

When I was young.
I would take things personally
I would become sad.
But one day.
I said **** that
It stuck around.

I said **** it,  **** that and **** all your stupid ****
**** the past and **** the bad things up in the ***
**** everything what a way to live.
But now I am happy and I've run out of ***** to give.

My head is awfully stupid.
"Remember this equation" I yell.
I know it will be on the test.
My brain responds by
remembering all the lyrics
to a song by Taylor Swift.

I cry as I fail my test in physics.

I pondered
if there is more to pain?
the installs jabbered to me
the counselor of pain trounced my love
I reasoned
if there is more to pain?
would the pain ever end?

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Anemones are white
Sunflowers are yellow
Marigold are orange

This is not a love poem.

A lot of poets are smithing words
in the middle of the night.
A new tunnel of memories and feelings
are being made every second.
And as a poem written in blank letters.
I will soon be forgotten. Drowned.
In the ocean of  poetry.

I am sitting at the table.
                                                looking at my microwave food.


                                         I am eating it raw...

                                                           Cause five minutes is too long.

            when Depression is whispering in your ears.

                                I am happy that I even made it out of the bed.

which mean I was strong enough. To fight against the darkness.

                      That usually P
                                               U
                                                  L
           ­                                     L
                          ­                    S
                                          
                                             M
                                                 E

                                                 D
                                               O
                                                W
             ­                                      N
      
                                       ...Into an oblivion prison...



Where                                 -Loneliness-                         is my only cellmate.
                                            

                                            
I am sitting at the table.

                                                        W­ISHING
                                                          ­                     U
That I someday will gain the power to stand P
                                                                ­                    ...against the sickness...

                                                 That  ç̗̟̲̱̰͈̹̻͎͆̃̒͌͛̆̌̀̽͠o̧͇̤̘̳̱̹̟͉̼͆̿̌̄̔͒̂́͌͑ṟ̯̰̙̙͈̂̂̈́̋̆̌̊̓̐̀­̼̬̟̩ŕ̛̬̖̙̣̮͖̤̰̱̊̇̅̈́̽̇̈̑ͅu̗̙̯̙̙͍͇̦̗̤̅̅͛̈́́̓͒̇͆͝p̡̢̧̘͇̝̙̜̈͐̅́̏̀̊̿͘͝­̨̱t̨̡̡̧̲̮̗͖̳͎͒͐̄̍͑̈́͊͋͂͝s̡̜̤͚̳͇͎̤͓̓̓͗̃̏̐̈́̇̆͜͝ my heart...




...