Well , who am I, what do I do and how do I live... questions, questions, questions...
...of some of them I want to give an answer by naming milestones of my life, which I consider beeing forming for my own self... I just want to give my life a meaning.
It is sad but we day, we die. I need you!! Every breath I take, I breathe you. Every sigh I release, I release a part of you in my heart. I create me as if I were of nothing but your fantasy. And boldly stand strong with a silent hold on life. Yet I still dream. And that dream is me
I still see frames of steal of scattered memories, shattered by lies of deceit.
They fall unseemly blind at my feet! No feeling!
Just each time you speak all I hear are lies of deceit!!
No feeling
No life!
Just grief, you’ll never understand how it feels to be me
In my life is insanity!
Someday I wil stop because we all die:) I will stop to hate
If that person lives or dies it will haunt you for the rest of your life.
To stop hating is it because of the fear of knowing that the person or thing
you once hated
Will become your best friend.
To stop living is it because of the fear of knowing once you stop you can
Never start again.
After talking to you, I realized that the majority of them fed off their feelings of anger, hostility, and loneliness, and really had no desire to feel anything else. I started to question my feelings. Was I subconsciously enjoying the feelings of loneliness that I had? Was I unintentionally digging my own grave?
Once I accepted that I was feeding off of my pain, while professing the longing for a better state of mind, I had to do some restructuring in my life. My general way of thinking was extremely pessimistic, always thought I was a realist because I saw all the bad that would possibly happen in a situation. A realist would have seen all the bad that could have happened in a situation, and all the good. I soon hunted out the good, and incorporated it into my way of thinking and in my poems.
I accept the bad, but I now accept the good. I realize I'm going to die, and probably at an age undesirable to me. But I also realize that there is really no point in treading on through life if I'm not going to reap any benefits. Dread, sorrow, and loneliness still inhabit my life, but so does happiness, and comfort in those moments when I write to you.
Aside from this fact, others would argue that they do not want happiness, that they enjoy the pain, sadness, and anger that they feel. We all have to ask this question, what is the difference between pain or pleasure, happiness or sadness. What are they?
Your pain may be my joy, and my sadness your happiness. In a poem everything is possible. We all have our own definitions, but as long as your striving for your version of completeness, and you don’t know where to go then the best way is to luck in to you!

I'm afraid I'll waste the light on the my pomes.
The lamp has gone out and I'm writing in the darkness.