Friday, January 16, 2015

a poem by gary pelow

wind whipping out there, cold and cruel, which is worse , the cold or my emptiness, i try to succed at life, as if i feel warm,  however hard i try i stall, like a car in the russian winter, people opposed to me, or so it feels,my heart colder than the four inches of snow, no warm heart here, just angry determination, to not die, to not klll, reettribution is wrong, as  illegal as well, jail is less fun than he insane  asylun, i have been in both, confinement on me was warranted, i seek only peace,  not revenge, revenge for unacknowledged chiild abuse against me so many years ago,my nightmares still terrorize  me over it, having schizphrenia clouds the issue even more,i suppose i should be gratefrul for survivng with no scars of deliberate cigarrette bruns, therev  is peace in strenght of  will, no  doubt, i march  forword, writing  and doing my work and just barely keeping up, but i do not quit, i will not be a four hundred pound schizophrenic, like so many of my friends and 'enemiesjusstice is a dead dream yet i still live, not just existing, but living, i will survive i will not terminate myself like a cyborg, i have more hope then that, you will see, i wil.l still be here, trying to live without fear and pain,

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