A Moth With Ashes For Wings

Cheers to us laughers, drowning our sorrows in drinks. That's Fanny to the far left, my best friend Jessie in the middle, and myself at the far right. Pic from yesterday, when I managed to break yet another necklace, drop my bracelet in the beer, have my foot stepped on no less than eight times, meet and regret my Firefly, and once again fall in love with my now black-haired, beautiful, wonderful Pearl.
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Funny I should write that yesterday... funny it should come to my mind. Later that night I caught sight of my Firefly. And a train of thoughts and emotions started pacing and racing through me, a chain of memories and glimpses from the past bursting into me, like a flood, a river, a jumbojet. The defences must hold. They will hold. They will not hold. I can still feel the fluttering of your wings upon my skin... I can see your shimmer, your fire, your light... I'm thrown back in time, to the first time, the innocent time... before you left me. There is no sense in this... none at all... There's no use in repeating your past, you'll only lose what you could have in the present. But still... it's a nice daydream. Trying not to think of how helpless a moth like me is when a Firefly like you has burnt my wings into ashes. Forever damaged, forever traumatized, you left only a shell of me behind for others to try and fill but always to fail. Cause even if our fire was short and intense, together, Firefly, we were fucking fireworks while we were on fire. And no steady glow could replace that...
Or could it?
- Poet in the Jar

Know Me, Love Me, Heal Me / For Your Sins

Know me.
Love me.
Heal me.
Hide me away and conceal
me.
Come so close you can feel
me.
Know me,
Love me,
and heal me.
You're the only one I'll let deal
with me.
The only one knowing what's real
with me.
Hide me away, put a seal
on me.
If you'd known me,
you could have loved me,
you would have healed me.
______________________________

Can't believe it. It's been almost a year now, and I'm still thinking about it. It's still sippering through my unconsciousness to appear in my poetry. "Darling" is still the word I use when I think of you. Tender emotions are still what I have for you, willingly replacing the fleeing anger and tears. You are the light that shimmers for me in the dark... for some unknown reason always steady in my dreams, never flickering. You are the Firefly that won't ever leave my mind, despite everything I've tried to rid you from my thoughts, to rid you from my life. Cause I think it would be best for me to live without you constantly accompanying my inner self...

For Your Sins

You wouldn't come
You always fled
You wouldn't come
The times I bled
You'd only come
When you would gain
You'd only come
If you needn't stay
When I craved you most
You'd turn your back on me
When I longed for you most
You wouldn't be with me
I've endured every second
I've spent without you since
Wonder what would'ave happened
If I hadn't fallen for your sins
You made me live my life like this
Always regretting
And desiring
That kiss
______________________________
- Poet in the Jar -

Intimidating-What-If-Scenario Land

I'm watching TV and I think I can see
No one needs to blindfold my eyes
Nothing they show me could possibly be
any worse than what I see at night

In my dreams which mirror reality
The world is distorted and flies me by
At times I sit myself up with a shriek
Just to find that you're fine and so am I

Don't ever want to sleep
Don't want these plaguing dreams
Cause even if what I perceive
is hard to believe
It feels ten times as real
as it seems

I'm watching you bleed and I don't want to see
Will someone please blindfold my eyes?
Cause what I've seen this far in my dreams
is enough for me to lose my mind

I've found you fainting, dying on me
Your face is distorted and flies me by
These times I sit myself up with a shriek
Just to find that you're fine and so am I

Don't ever want to sleep
Don't want these plaguing dreams
Cause even if what I perceive
is hard to believe
It feels ten times as real
as it seems

Love, when your reassuring arms won't warm me
When your soothing voice tries but just won't calm me
I'm waking up from the darkest of lands
Intimidating-What-If-Scenario Land.
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Wings of the Firefly

Seasons change, as does my mood. Yesterday, I felt like I was glowing... being around so beautifully creative people casted light on me as well, and my spirits were going eternally upward. But today... it's all been different. Might be the usual Sunday agony stopping by for a visit, or it might actually be - something. I'm not happy. I got everything you could possibly ask for, at the same time I got nothing at all. I miss the times when you could afford to make use of all your hours, completely devoted, completely consumed. Now I've been banished to an empty existence, a life in a shell, without meaning, without any sense of how many days or months have passed... without any grasp of the concept of time. It's just another series of eventless hollows, and I'm not as much a centre of it as I am a spectator, helplessly watching as my life glides off in whatever direction seems short-term appropriate. It's slipping right out of my hands, uncontrollably...
And you know what bothers me? I can't stand the company of myself. It's like being trapped in a room with the one person in the world you hate the most. All the time! Well, it aint actually that I hate myself, it's just that I don't like what I've become. Is this where I wanted to be when I was nineteen? There are things I should have done and things I shouldn't have done, people I could have met and people I could have avoided to meet! Places to see, things to do... taking the time to just be me. See?
Things aren't all dark, though. Sometimes, when you see a firefly among the stars, you can let it land on the palm of your hand for a fragment of a second, and watch in awe as it welds a permanent image on the inside of your eyelids... to watch and smile at every time you close your eyes and imagine the conteur of the fading stars... and the infinite shimmer reflected from the wings of the firefly.
Important! The Poet in the Jar would like to post a P.S as follows!
- Apologise for the gaps between my latest entries. That's what happens when your computer's capacity runs out. In contrast to my inspiration. Don't think that'll ever dry out...

Phonetics Exam

Right. Another exam yesterday. I have no idea how it went. Well, I mean statistically it should be possible to pass considering the number of questions I answered, but then I haven't taken in account how many of them I took a guess at. What do you do when you get the question, 'which English consonant is described as a labiodental plosive,' but guess? I studied more for this test than I did for the grammar test, and still it feels as if went twice as bad. Yeah well, we'll know in a couple of weeks, no need to worry now. Just hoping I don't have to do the retake, it's been scheduled to the same day I've got my driver's license test. Aaaaah, I don't think I could say which is more important. Fail the phonetics course and have too few points to keep studying next term, or reschedule the driver's license test and not have it when I start working this summer. Have a pick.
Anyway, I'm having practical studies for the next two weeks, meaning nothing to study at all, so I'm happy. Finally weekends that are actually free, and when you go home, you can do whatever you like. Yeah I really miss working in that way. On the other hand it isn't half as stimulating for your brain. Gotta keep those cells working. I'm not doing this to have fun now, I'm making sure that once I get out there to work, I'll have all those benefits of working, plus the fact that I'll enjoy the actual work, that it'll stimulate me. This is my future I'm investing in. Doesn't sound that crazy after all, now does it?
Well, better rush. I gotta convince my boyfriend to take his eyes off the TV and go outside to do something fun in the sun, ha ha.
Greetings, from a long time gone,
Poet in the Jar
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The Hysteric One

Now that I'm home, I'm sitting here, looking at this mess, trying to gather even the slightest little energy to fix it. There are dirty dishes everywhere and the newly washed clothes spread all over the apartment. My school books lying on the desk, laughing at me, too tired to open them, too tired to study for my test. I've slept all morning, and I'm still sleepy, it feels as if I could sleep through anything. That's all I feel like doing, anyway. Don't want to be alone, don't want to be around other people. And I'm wondering, why doesn't everything just stop? How can people just, keep on living, keep holding on? Not only is that what everyone does, every stranger, every unfamiliar face, but it is what we do as well. Mum does, you know, and that bothers me the most. We're talking about the difference between life and death here, and all she can think of is 'what'll happen to the firm if I stay at home, sick?' So she ignores whatever instructions or recommendations she might have gotten from the doctor, who is the one with experience here, and she just keeps on working, keeps getting up in the morning and goes to work, even with the cancer spreading in her body, with every breath causing her heart to flicker and her lungs to tighten. Part of me wants to just run home and hug her and tell her how much I love her, and ask her, who am I gonna call if you go? Who am I gonna call? You can't leave me, you can't, cause if you do, I wouldn't know who to call! And I would stay at home with her, and take care of her, so she wouldn't have to do anything. Another part of me though, just wants to slap her in the face and tell her to grow up and start taking some responsibility, do you want your daughters to lose their mother, do you want your husband to lose his wife that he loves above everything, just because you were too damn stubborn to listen to the doctor? Too stubborn even, to listen to your own family?
And then, it's this thing my sister said that's bugging me. We talked about all this yesterday, I guess to process it a bit, and she says, 'I hate that Mom thinks I'm so strong. She tells me it's so nice to talk to me cause I don't go hysteric like you, Bekki. But the second she hangs up, I always cry. And I cry like there's no tomorrow.' And suddenly, I go: 'I'm the hysteric one? I don't want to be the hysteric one. I don't. Want. To. Be. The. Hysteric. One.'
I know that's what it's like, it's not that. It's just that I've always been very different from my family in some ways. Like the fact that my family is very practical in most situations. And when something bad happens, we solve everything that need be solved first. We can cry later, be sad later, mourn later, when we got the time. I don't do that, never have, and it's always gotten me into trouble, especially with my Mom, who doesn't understand why I'm different, you know. Time stops for me. Everything seems to be unimportant, except what I feel. And I take time to feel. I make time to feel. Cause if something happens, I wanna be able to say that time stopped, that everything turned upsidedown, that I lived in slowmotion, NOT that I just cleaned it up and waited for the time to come when it was allright to mourn. Is it so wrong to feel that you gotta let out your emotions, instead of carrying them inside you, letting them grow so badly that when they go off, they're like a nuclear bomb, not only affecting you, but everyone around you?
I used to feel I didn't fit in in my family, and I wanted out. Now that I am, I miss them. Oh God, how I miss them. And I just wanna go back in time, wanna relive my life, so that maybe I could have been better. I, I just wish I had been better. You know?

Plea to Emma Carolina

Dear little sister
Dear little rose
Who knows had it been different
If we got to see you grow
Remember you so clearly
Oh why'd you have to go
The turn has come to us now
Just thought you ought to know
While daddy's growing younger
Mommy's growing old
The essence of her cancer
Tearing up her soul
We're hoping she'll get better too
So she won't have to go to you
But baby sister, if you see her,
tell her she is lost
Baby sister, point her back,
Point her back to us
______________________________________

I woke up this morning with the worst of feelings. That something was about to happen, something bad that would change me forever. At first I thought it was about my Nikki, and I was very reluctant to letting him off to work. Maybe the guy he rides to work with was gonna smash the car or something. But when I called him later on, he was perfectly fine, which almost worried me more. What if I had mistaken when guessing who it was about? And maybe I did. We don't know that for sure yet. They took a lot of tests off my mom, and who knows, it might turn out not to be cancer, it might not even be struma, maybe it's just that she caught a virus that swells the throat. Maybe I didn't even get her phone call. Maybe this is all just a bad dream, and when I wake up, I'll be in our garden with my family, everyone there, Ann Christine and Carolina and Mom and Dad, and we're fooling around on the lawn playing croquet, laughing at the cat who's caught a badminton ball.
Wake me up, when this crappy piece of shit-life is going for the better, and God doesn't slap you in the face every time you're thinking things are good.

Oxygen's Going Low

'Are you writing about us? And what's happening here?'
'Yes. I am.'
'So then the people in your country will read it, and come to help us?'
'No... I don't think so. I think people might read it, look up from their newspaper and comment on how horrible it is, and then go back to dinner.'
Conversation from Blood Diamond
__________________________________________

They blindfold a ten years old boy. Put a rifle in his hand. Demand him to fire. And he does. Not aware of the young boy standing up that wall, until the blindfold comes off and he can watch him die. Honourable as his accomplishment is, it earns him a promotion.
Congratulations, Kiddo, another beer and smoke for you, finish it son, it'll quiet your hunger. Now come to me if you ever need anything and I'll fix it for you.
When the most innocent and loving there is in our world, the children, are forced into the machinery of war, and the rest of us only dare to watch and let it happen because of fear for our own children, you know you're in the right place. This is Earth. You got the right train. This is the right platform, the right station, and you got yourself a lucky one-way ticket.
Time after time, the human race proves to be incapable of caring for their own people. We serve ourselves and nobody else. There are two ways of surviving in this world:
One. About Lasting. Go through your life trusting no one but yourself, and you'll know you'll last longer. You're not gonna be hurt by yourself. You're not gonna leave yourself or fight with yourself. If you build a solid self to begin with, what others do will not affect you, and you won't find yourself lost of track when they do.
Two. About Value. Live with the motto, if I am gonna die, I sure want to be happy with what I did while I was alive. You may not last longer, but the quality of life will make up for that. Let people hurt you so you know how to appreciate healing. Let people leave you or mess with you so you know how it feels when they are close. Trust whoever you want to trust, leave whoever you want to leave. Try not to lose yourself in the maze, cause it happens easily.

Pick one or mix them both. They are completely different but mostly they're the same. I don't care. Oxygen's going low on me, and I'm gonna do what number Two says, that is, exactly what I feel like. Go to bed. Yaaaaaawwwwwn...

Premature Wish List (Preceded by Poem)

Some of us gotta fight for what we got.
We all can't eat from no silver plate.
Some of us gotta try for what we got.
Call it Darwinism, or call it fate.
Some of us gotta die for what we got.
While we watch you others grow up and grow away.
Some of us gotta stay in this hole to rot.
Well dunno who said it had to be that way.
I gotta be different.
Gotta take me away.
Can't watch anymore.
As my energy drains.
So I gotta be different.
Gotta take me away.
I'm ready, I may now.
I may take me away.
_____________________________________________

I wish:
- I had done certain things that I never did.
- I had never done certain things that I did.
- I hadn't lost track of who I am.
- I could learn to like this way of living.
- I had some time to spare.
- it was as simple as there is only one you love.
- I didn't think this much,
and finally, I wish for:
- No more nightmares that freak me out.

Premature Christmas Wish List,
signed by
Poet in the Jar

PS. I'm sick of living. Someone help me live through this, and say someday I'll laugh at it. Or I'll just die. Fade away. DS.

Dependent On You

What if it's not being dependent on someone that is the problem?
What if it's worse having someone who is dependent on you?
Having to be there and having to care.
Having someone who is dependent on you.
_____________________________________________

I love to sleep in your arms where I can't be harmed
So be there for me
And I'll be there for you.
_____________________________________________

Fancy A Fisherman?

That's right, I'm marching on back along this path, I gotta go sort out the Poet's life. Yeah, I tried to let her do without me for a while, but it seems she didn't do too well. I guess we're all dependent. The way the Poet is dependent on me, I'm dependent on Grey's Anatomy on Wednesday nights. Fact is, problems seldom arise with this, that is, in case you don't know what to be dependent on.

So I'm moving in for her now. I'm making her decisions for her for a while. Sitting behind that glass for too long probably aint healthy. I better wipe it off for her, so she'll do better without me, so she'll learn how to do it herself, she's gotta start depending on herself, you know. At some point, I mean, eventually. There's no way I'm gonna stick around forever, I've got too much a stuffed calendar for that, but what the heck. For now, fine, why don't I just teach the starving Poet how to catch her own fish.
_____________________________________________

Something strange came over me, as if suddenly the decisions were starting to make themselves. As if suddenly everything seemed so obvious and clear. I found a ruby down the mines. All around it there were other stones, one shinier than the other, sparkling at me from every corner of those walls. And even though I was scared, thinking the shaft was gonna fall down on me any second, I stopped to look at and simply admire all this glistening. All this shine, and all these riches. Anyone for me to take. Anyone! The biggest one, the prettiest one, the shiniest one, the one with the unusual sparks, anyone I fancied the most I could just pick up and put in my pocket and I could use it to make myself temporarily happy, show it off to the world.
I stopped to think. These were all beautiful stones. But something in their glimmering told me of greed and desiring fame and riches. Features that would bring me down, along with the rest of the human kind.
On the ground, real low, lay a ruby in the dirt. It wasn't trying to display itself. It was just happy with lying there in the mud, and when I picked it up, it seemed surprised to even be found.
And now I know. I've decided to keep it. Hell yeah. I'm gonna keep it...

The People With The Axes

I had another nightmare this morning. It's been a while since last they came, but they haven't lost their power. Imagine yourself standing in the middle of a crowded room, and you're wondering why all these people around you are screaming. You look around. Everyone, including yourself, are wearing beige-coloured, unisex clothing. Many of those you see are clutching their own arms. Some are crying. There seems to be something horrible going on, somewhere close, and you can see how people are trying to move away from it, knowing that there is no where to go.

Slowly, you realise the reason for all the cries and the screams. Somewhere in this room, fellow humans are, neatly and as inevidably as the passing of time, slicing off the hands, feet and heads of the beige people, no way of knowing which feature they're going to pick when the turn comes to you. You turn. You run. Your fingernails are screeching on the glass of the windows. Your hands are fumbling with the ridiculously heavy chains on the doors. Your heart, pumping as quickly as never before, is trying to jump up out your throat, trying to suffocate your growing sense that
(I got a real bad feeling about this)
there actually isn't gonna be a miraculous rescue this time. That no one's gonna come for you, and that you're not gonna be able to save yourself like you always have, cause you're too dependent now, too dependent on the people with the axes who are holding the keys.
You panic.
Sweating from your nightmare, you open your eyes, flicker, hastily sit up, look around. Your familiar red bedroom walls. Your bed, your pillow, your school books... your boyfriend, soundly asleep... holding your keys. All the same. Same as it's always been, and as it'll always be, same old future rushing to face you.
And you panic.

Phantom of the Opera

3 A.M. we seemed allright

(Couldn't be better)
On our way into the light
Now 3 A.M. has gone
Along with when there's nothing wrong
3 A.M. we seemed allright
- POETS of the FALL

3 A.M. we seemed allright. We did, angel. But I'm losing myself now
In this maze of desires, I'm blind to guidance
and I don't know where I am, where I'm going, all I can say for sure that I've figured out is where I've already been. It aint supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be easy, god damn it. Someone, please lift this weight of my shoulders, let me spread my wings and fly...
All I want is some space. Let me be. Alone...
When I'm looking forward to something as plain as when I'll be able to order this T-shirt, and not to a time when my words can spread and affect the world out there... something's not right. I got the mask back on and it doesn't suit me. Why don't I just pull a Phantom of the Opera and go half-masked, half-apparent. Least that way I won't fade into a bleak copy of someone else. Least that way I'll be myself again.

I miss myself. I used to be strong. I used to trust only myself. Now I've become dependent on other people, and I hate it. I wanna break free. Got to. Have to... For my own sake. Got to prior myself... not others... the way a good friend of mine once put it...

The consequences of our actions are always so many, and so complicated, that we can never predict them
- Albus Dumbledore

Efficiency

"If you never share your thoughts, they are pointless. First when sharing them with others, can they gain strength and spread."
- Ingvor Sundell, Språkboken
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A quote! What's this? Actually I just felt too lazy to come up with something of my own. Now, there are good news, and there are bad news. The good news is, ever since I realised how much nicer a photo of me looked when I was smiling, than when I was crying, it's been no match to fall back into my old, happier self. And you know what? It's so much easier. Gotta disappoint you guys, but I'm putting the mask back on for a while. Can still look out of the glass though.
The bad news is, that I still haven't got rid of my constant pondering, and it feels as if it's weighing me down. Guess I'll never get rid of it, cause it's too much a part of me by now. And here I am, scribbling my blog when I should be finishing my very important essay. Shame on me. Yeah right! Did I really think I was gonna listen to myself? Why change the winning concept?

Wise Statement of the Day:
Just... being my happier self doesn't mean that I can just let go of everything. And giving myself a little extra credit to boost my ego doesn't mean I should be the centre of the universe.
I don't know how much time I'll get in life,
so what I've got, I don't wanna waste.
I'd like to be able to leave this world knowing I made the best out of it.
That I took the time to care, to be there,
for the memories... the good ones... of what you get in return for your love,
will keep me alive in whatever afterlife may come...
And if it never comes... Well, then I've been time efficient...

White Little Lies

White little lies
No one minds
No one finds
As long as they're small,
you wouldn't care at all
But when white little lies
won't stop growing in size,
they stop making sense,
and you're ripped of innocence.
______________________________________________

"A white lie won't hurt you." And that's true. A white lie you'd use to protect someone else, or to protect yourself, and mostly it does more good than it does you harm. But what happens if
a white lie grows? If it changes from small and harmless to a lie that you find more and more difficult to sustain, cause it shields off a truth that you don't wanna, or don't have the energy to, face. At some point you might even be telling that lie to yourself, sensing that if you don't believe it, no one else will, either.

WARNING: WARNING: Poet in the Jar Confession!

I sat on a bench today. Thinking. My specialty. And I thought, damn it, I know this, I know what this is. This is how you feel when you realise that white lie you've kept telling the whole year, is, inevitably, going to burst, and it's going to burst soon. I don't know whether I should just watch and let it, and let that weight off my shoulders but having to live with it instead dragging down my feet; or if I should struggle like hell to keep it, and be unhappy but with a clear conscience. All I know is if I don't set things straight pretty soon, the stone is gonna roll sooner or later, destroying every ounce of future hope to gather some nice-looking moss.
Now, Over And Out.

Extinguish

Sick of being sick
Tired of being tired
Will someone put me out,
put out that fire
________________________________________________________

Treacherous Grounds

Watch that step! Or you'll fall down

Mind what you're saying,

these are treacherous grounds.

____________________________

Can't say it enough: watch where you place that foot.
It might make the difference between
happy and depressed
living and dead
spotless and troubled
when you are brave and when you dread.
____________________________

Drop in again soon folks
And you'll get another wise statement from
The Poet in the Jar

Echoe of My Former Self

I don't understand. I don't know if I'd want to, either. It's not
my feverish nightmares, and it's not that I fall to pieces
every other day, crying. It is, I think, simply the fact that I don't
know why it happens. Why it's plaguing me so. What do you do when
a single event makes you question everything you held for sure in
life? If suddenly you're brutally thrown into a post-revisionist
nightmare, where you stare yourself blind on "what if"-s and
"if only"-s. What you used to value in life has gone unimportant,
and all that matters is to find out whether this given something
ever would have worked. Or if it ever will.
One of the reasons I hate myself for thinking about it is that, I
have everything I should ever want or need. I go to school and
like it there. I got a very supportive family and friends worth of
gold. I spend every day in the shade of my angel's wings... I love
him beyond compare...
So why do I ponder?
I just wanna know if this is what everyone goes through, like.
I don't think this is what people do, or how people feel. Sure
it might just be me thinking I'm the only one having this
problem. Or, and I'm almost starting to believe it, I actually
am. I'm sick and tired of feeling down all the time. And if I
can't figure out why it's like that, I won't ever be able to
fix it, either.

You know, the other day when I was reading about birth
control pills, it said somewhere the hormonal pills should
not be given to women who are depressed. And I'm thinking,
gee, maybe that's what it is for me. So far I've been thinking
that the pills are causing the instability of my body and my
temper, while in fact they might just be worsening a condition
that existed long before I even started taking them. It's hard,
you know, I can't blame the midwife for prescripting them to
me - she didn't know I felt so down, no one does, no one except
a very well selected few, like. And I didn't know it would harm
me to get the prescription if I did feel down, so I didn't tell her,
and she didn't ask! Aint that a vicious circle or what.

I read through some old diaries a couple of days ago, and that's
when it struck me. I thought I cried all the time just for now. That
it's due to so many things going on around me, this very instant.
But what does my diaries tell me?

"The tears come to me every day on the bus home. I'd rather let
it out there than at home. Don't want any questions."

"I'm feeling down today. Dunno why. Just feel like curling up in
a corner to cry."

"I've had nightmares every night for two months now. I avoid
going to bed cause I'm afraid to fall asleep, and let the dreams in
again."

And this way it goes. Sure you might wanna note that I mostly
produce writing only when things are rough. But in that case I'd
say I've had a few pretty rough years. One day at a time is how
I get by. Just wish I could say, or understand why.

Sometimes I think it might help me to go talk to someone, like,
an outsider, someone who doesn't know me or anyone that I know.
Isn't it horrible that you find that you can't be completely honest to anyone? Anyone at all? You tell them many things, but never everything.
To protect them, or protect yourself. If you spoke to a
professional, you'd know they can't spread your word on, and so
you could say anything without worrying that sometime it'll
come back to harm you. It's kinda like my sister says, that
everyone needs to just spit things out once in a while. Why not
in therapy?
On the other hand, a lot of what you do yourself is in fact
therapy. It's therapy to talk to your friends and get advise,
or to lie beside your boyfriend knowing he'll keep you safe,
or doing what I'm doing this moment: pouring my thoughts out
in writing. Poems or diaries or whatever. Therapy just the same.
I've heard that to be a great writer, it don't matter how much
you produce for others' sake, like poems or novels, but just to
keep your language running, and that keeping your diary up,
even if you don't think you got anything to write - is one im-
portant way of doing that. That has really sunk in to me. So
I always try to keep it up. On the web or in my physical red
little diary. Doesn't matter. Even if what you would put on
either place will differ slightly.

Since I still got the flu - wihooo! - I better cut out this crap
writing and get to the business of getting healthy again. I'm
gonna have me one of those delicious vitamin drinks. That was
irony. And then I'm going to bed... Again...

Last note, then I promise I'll be done. Friends, I love you,
with all my heart. It's so moving to see how much you care
for little me. I would walk in darkness without you, and you're
what I live for, above all else.

Night. No bed bugs allright.

Poet Soldier

Poet soldier, what is your name?
Your number on the badge with the silver frame?
Express your aggressions by pulling the trigger,
while your inspiration grows bigger and bigger.

Sing of the children with blown-off faces.
Sing of the blood filling up your traces.
Adore the scenery of irrational war,
and explain to your parents what the rapes are for.

Of course it's natural that when you fight,
the sound of rock'n'rolls through the night.
The songs will blunt your sanity and ears,
but being sane is a common fear.

Poet soldier, look me in the eye,
and tell me you fight cause you're proud of why.
That you stand for a cause of moral issues,
Just hard to find among demolished tissues.

No one wants to hear that in fact you're afraid.
That you joined the army as to run away.
That this videogame gives you nightmares like no other,
that when your friends drop dead no one seems to bother.

Poet soldier, is this your life?
Reach for your gun, and then reach for your knife.
Defend yourself till the minute you fall,
make sure that they know you don't regret it at all.

Poet soldier, now what d'you make of this?
An entire country on your mercenary list.
No where to hide, soon there's no where to go
for a soldier like you, as you very well know.

Reality bites once you meet it out there.
Not like it sounded from the recruiting officer.
Watch your friends taking bullets and dying,
Making new friends has lost the use in trying.

Now don't you say you don't wanna go home.
After all this mess, and these sandy storms.
Poet soldier, here you have no name.
You're an anonymous face in a picture frame.

When you die that's the last of you we will hear.
We'll all have forgotten in the next few years.
So be poetic, be a hero,
protecting the memory of US Ground Zero.

But do me a favour before you do so,
turn off the music in the danger zone.
At least be respectful and realise it's war
And let those who die keep their dignity for sure.

Bye bye soldier, poet in soul,
Remember my words in your quest for gold.
Know this is wrong if you ever grow old.
Don't let your kids be like you or so.

Poet Soldier, you should split.
Those two words just will not fit.
If you're looking for comfort, this isn't it.
But I hope you've got your eyes up.
Throw away the list.
__________________________________________

I Drug Myself

Lucky me! I've managed to catch the flu again. I'm forced
to stay home from school again! I'm so thrilled, yeay!

To be honest, it's killing me. It took me forty-five minutes
and all of my energy just to wash up a couple of plates
and glasses. Didn't even get as far as the pots. Which is
too bad, cause I sure would have liked a cup of hot tea
for my throat right now. So far I'm surviving by drinking
buckets of water and drugging myself with aspirin.

Anyways. As for your sake guys, I scrambled up an old
poem for ya, Poet Soldier. Read and enjoy, case you got
nothing better to do.