Dry tubers

I hope they burn in Hell
all the suffering
they inflicted on me and everyone else.
I Hate them
I hope they suffer now
thats it
The mercury that might be my memory
Of what they did to me 
Has slipped through my fingers
Only small parts remain
under the snow

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About

I am who I was when I wrote this text but I do not know if I exist now. I am from Scandinavia where the arctic starts and the world ends.

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Posted in Poems

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