Death doesn’t want me

I tried so hard, I asked him to come.

I planned out for him to come.

I prayed for him to come.

I told him all I did wrong, so he might come.

Each time death was near, he let me live.

What did I do wrong?

Am I meant to be broken and alive?

Well, it ain’t me who is wrong.

Death doesn’t want me.

I tried with love, I tried with hate.

Death doesn’t want me.

In a way he is my mate.

Should I want to jump from a bridge,

death would save me.

should I die from cancer,

death would find a cure.

Then I came to realize,

it wasn’t death who didn’t want me.

It was my environment.

God wanted me, death wants me.

But I don’t know whether I can trust it.

Death doesn’t want me.

Do I want to live?

Sure I want to live, but my life is not a life.

Death doesn’t want me.

God wanted me to live to tell my story.

God wanted me to live to let everything out.

Death doesn’t want me,

because God is not done yet.

Death doesn’t want me.

Do I want myself?

Sometimes for sure,

but then the problem enters the house.

Death doesn’t want me,

otherwise he would have already taken me away.

When I was ready, he wasn’t.

When he was ready, I wasn’t.

I am not done yet.

God is not done yet.

Death doesn’t want me, yet.

Death has to wait, but can I?

The darkness is my friend now.

The animals protect me.

The weather is within me.

The storm is coming.

Death doesn’t want me, yet.

There are many others he wants to take first.

Death doesn’t want me, yet.

Because maybe he wishes that I will survive.

Death doesn’t want me,

death wants me to save him.

Death doesn’t want me,

because no one should die.

Death doesn’t want me.

I often don’t want me.

God wants me.

Do you want me?


Comment:


???: What languages do you speak?

Me: I speak.

???: Can you name some?

Me: Music, technology, love, actions

???: What are you talking about?

Me: Don’t you speak?

???: I speak english for example.

Me: I know.

???: Can you speak german for example?

Me: I speak.

???: Are you sick or something?

Me: Yes, I speak.


(I don’t know, I just had this dialogue in my head, but it never happened in reality. Still it somehow is strange and funny, also a little weird. I don’t know.)

This poem or what it is, also just came out of me because I was so in rage again today because my father is just such a crazy nut bag.

It doesn’t help to know that he got like this because he also wasn’t free and pushed into wrong believes. It makes it only worse. Because then it makes me feel guilty when I am angry, while I have all right to be.

But from the outside it will probably always look as if me and my mother are the problem and my father is such a nice and helpless man. So old and in need for help. But what they don’t see, is when he is 180 °C hot (obviously a little over dramatic) and stands in front of you like a hulk. The air is hot and I know, should I make one wrong move, I could get beaten to death.

Only to see him the next day with a look facing down, walking like an old man, as if he can’t properly move and is weak. If you only see this, you could think we really are the monsters. Maybe we are sometimes, but otherwise we would be dead already.

If I am sometimes acting like a sociopath, than only because my feelings are overwhelming and in order to keep calm I have to shut them off. Then I could act heartless, crazy. As long as I can control myself, it is good. Because should I beat my father, I could be dead or he will tell everyone that his son has beaten him. And then all will look at me, oh what a bad son I am… or whatever I am.

Today I was so close again to just take one of the wood cutter axes and hit it into the wooden walls of one of the cabins in the garden. Or maybe just eat grass or smash in my fathers front glass-iron door.

But I have to keep calm, but it is hard.

Should you ask me, who in my family is sick or broken the most, I really can’t give you a clear answer. I can only say, that I didn’t force my wife to go to work and then call her a problem. Maybe because I don’t have a wife… maybe it’s that. … But I sure know that should I not heal and throw out all this nonsense crazy bullshit, I will end in a similar way like my father. Probably more violent, probably out of control. He knows how to play the weak and innocent in front of everyone, I also know how to do this. But I do it to protect the others and he does it because he wants to protect himself.

And my mother just has enough of it. She just screams at him sometimes, sometimes she is nice to him. I can’t blame her. She works, she cares for me, she tried to defend me. We tried a lot of things. Moved away two times, but always got back here in the end. Maybe it was the lack to live, maybe lack of selfrespect, maybe the manipulation, maybe just all of it.

Do I really want to live?

… Only if this nightmare ends.

If you want to change, no matter what, I take your hand and call it a fair deal.

Another nightmare could be worse than this one, but better than being trapped in the same one for decades.

During the time when my father only came to visit sometimes, while we were in another flat, I sometimes thought ‘why can’t I change with a kid in Africa or Asia?’. I thought, I would take whatever burden or life they have, just so that they could have my opportunities and do something good with it. I didn’t see the hope, the good in it. All I wanted was to make it stop or die.

Now I of course don’t want anyone to change with me literally, but I hope you know what I mean.

Should someone be in a worse nightmare, I would want to change with them, should they want.

But actually, I want all nightmares to end, at least all living nightmares.

The ones in the head, well… that is another story.

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