Right now, I'm tiding and cleaning up the oldest working computer at my parent's place - a Dell of one of the first generations and over 10 years old. Next to all kind of harmonious as well as awkward pictures, essays and papers reaching back to elementary school, first attempts in photoshop and flash, I've found a poem of mine - in English and seven years old. I don't remember ever having written that but still it seems to be written by me.
And suddenly,
it occured to me,
that the world is bad,
and makes one sad.
Why living - in hell on earth?
Only suffering - since the birth?
During the life - just fight and theft,
and after the death - just destruction left?
In that moment of clearness,
I feeled the fearness,
by seeing the truth,
with all its prove.
I wanted back - into my dream,
[The poem breaks off at this point.]
Looks like my emo poetry's got its roots much further in the past than I remember. I might find some more in these old and entwined folder directories.
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