Fuck that! Why? What the fuck did I do? Nothing nothing wrong! I’m not a bad person, although the hate I have for myself is unbearable, unexplainable. But it feels so right. What am I? Who am I why the fuck do or don’t I deserve something. What did I do wrong? Everything! Why am I nothing! Worth not a single penny! I can’t tell you otherwise. But fuck that. Fuck what I deserve. I feel as long as I am here. I love but I shouldn’t tell. I suffer but should keep it to myself. Don’t come on to strong. Don’t say it too soon. Why the fuck not. I do have feelings for you! I do suffer every single fucking second because of it. I cried, can’t eat. Can’t think. Cause you don’t feel the same, or maybe you do. But maybe is not enough for me. I want you all of you. But damn how could I say such a thing. You scaring her, you have to play it cool. Fuck that! I fucking love you and I will say it. And yes it won’t work. Will destroy everything. But every second, every breath I take is doing exactly the same thing. I will tell you. Give you my heart. Make assumptions about yours. So you can rip it apart, because I need to know. But why? Why me? Why now? What did I do to deserve this. Fuck! Yes I’m not fucking perfect far away from it. But goddamn it I would be a good catch. I just know it. I am a good human. Fuck! the last relationships where destroyed by me. Against me, by fucking me. To spare them of pain and feeling it myself. Everytime I think. I think of others, what they might think, how to please them, how to fucking help them. Fuck that! The world is terrible. Doing good, beeing good means nothing. I’m not the smartest, but I’m smart. Not the best looking, but good-looking. Not the nicest, but I’m a good person. Not the strongest, tallest, most creative. But goddamn it, I am someone. Someone who deserves something.
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Masha Ubben: Mindesthaltbarkeitsdatum
Masha Ubben
"Haltbar bis" heißt nicht "tödlich ab", Schmeiß nichts direkt weg, mach den Geruchstest vorab. Aber bei Fleisch sollte man doch vorsichtig sein, Wiese sollte es anders bei meinem sein? Hat die Verwesung begonnen, ist nichts mehr zu retten, Weder Hühnchenbrust, Wurst noch Buletten. Zu stoppen ist der Prozess nur noch mit Kälte, Wie ich am eigenen Leibe feststellte. Doch das ist kein Leben, in der Tiefkühltruhe, Im ewigen Schmerz des Verfalls zu ruhen. Sie tun als hätten Menschen kein Ablaufdatum, ...
