I know how they used to sing about me.

She's ugly but she loves her face,

She loves her so-called style,

I see her standing next to me,

I hate to see her smile.

Her curly hair, her angry look, 

that twinkle in her eyes,

The chest she moved, the head she shook,

a devil in disguise.

A slap to her cheek, punch to her chin,

See the dropping glass!
My eyes they narrow, fill with tears,

My hands are full of scars,

"You hit the mirror! Dumb and blind,

And now you see, it's true,

That ugly girl, the one you mind,

That devil, it was you.

"A sea of blood and tears to your feet,

Drown in your own hate!

This self-hatred, it killed your heart,

To see this was your fate."

And nothing can be taken back

By nothing I can see,

I'll kill the one I hate for life - 

And this night, that is

me.

(01/2009)

Om du lämnade mig nu

Jag skulle vakna mitt i natten och gå upp och ta en lång promenad.

I can only pretend to know what love is like.I mean, I do like him. I like a lot of people. Then again, I loathe a lot more. I'm just thinking that if this is love, if this is the ultimate feeling of all, what is there left to long for? It causes more pain than pleasure, it forces me to cry at night and try to hide from those who might get worried.

I am not content with this life any more. I don't think I've ever been. With time passing by, it's easier to forget though. It's like walking a very long way for years, forgetting where it was going to lead you. You just don't get anywhere. You think you're feeling it, you think you know exactly what it should be like. You're wrong. The way won't lead anywhere, there's nothing left for you to find out in this entire world. You're on your own, possibly forever. And even if not, you will still have to die on your own. Nobody can save you. Nothing can. As one of the greatest artists ever said in one of his most famous plays: "It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury - signifying nothing."

So long, good night.

Bamafedimatiarjucatopist.

For the love of whatever it's worth, don't treat me like I'm meant to.The feisty days are over now. We've all grown so much older and wiser it hurts to take a look back at what our image of reality used to look like.  Those things we yearned for, will they ever be the same again? Why do our dreams change all the time, getting less eccentric and more reasonable within just weeks or months? Why do our loved ones turn into the pivot of our lives? Why do we have to realise we're just so small and meaningless when there's still people to count on us? How does our youth trick us into thinking of physical pleasures as the only way out - and then again, why do we not scrutinise? The series of mistakes never to be undone, the insignificant hours wasted in the sun, or in the big, yellow light that looked not a whit like it, though it was so easy to pretend... Oh blissful widow that you were, why do you loathe yourself like that? And where is the one, supposed to make you smile?