Fugative

I am on the run
the Easter almost
killed me
All that anger
all that frustration
And me
being ill just
trying to ward off 
moving from
one corner in the house
to the other
taking the toddler
for walk 
many many hours
Projection, ejection, rejection, 
floating spaces
of uncertainty 
is this the reality 
or is it just a lie?
I lost my sense of value, dignity
my brain closed off sealed off run away
Why do I have to live in this mess?
Now just listening to nonsense 
Nice nonsense meeting up with nice people
I do not want to see
I do not want to bee
in prison the rest of my life
for a crime that I did not 
commit 

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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

Tagged with: , , , ,
Posted in April 2014, Black, Easter, Poem, Poetry

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