(latest poetry 2012_ ">"Dirty Labor" I sit and watch people walking by. They run as if the world will end in just minutes. They are filled with worries and pains that do not belong to them; but they are so attached that they forget what is really important. Their lives are burdened and stained with preoccupations. What will I eat, what will I wear, where will I sleep. It is all tearing them apart, "where do I work for somebody else?" You do not have to labor your sweat for no one other than yourself. Every one is good at something. That something can allow you to help somebody else. Then, your food will come from the goodness of others. Your clothes from people who don't need them anymore. The world is a mansion, find your spot and sleep. Burry your belongings from the thieves. The planet is our home, and the grass is our mattress. Your only worry and concern is to be. ------------------------------------------------------- "Lovely Death" Every time the sun rises. I must hide, I can't stand the cold. I can't stand the light getting absorbed by my pores. My eyes barely open can see the horror of waking. The birds chirping at unison make me sick, and the light coming through my window smells like misery. The nice warmth of my body suggests stinking fever. I feel morose the moment I awaken. The feet feel the coldness of the ground, which suggests I'm alive; but I can't stand such putrid lie. My body then is thirsty for water, which keeps me dead. I love every little part of it. The people around me feel like a lovely thorn; it keeps going in the more I get old. They are the reason I'm dead. In my shoes I dare them to take a step. Lovely death when are you coming? I am already halfway there I love the smell of flesh burning; please take me to hell. (latest poetry 2012_
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