TRAUMAS OF A SURVIVOR
The day rises again over my bitterness.
The birds have not yet begun to sing,
I am already angry,
still in a bad mood despite financial security.
At the slightest provocation, I know I’ll end up handcuffed in a prison van.
I’m afraid I’ll eventually break.
I am not afraid of dying, but of living.
I come from hell and walk upon a hostile land.
I am full of rage: the human species does not deserve this generous planet.
Once, I had gloved hands and a hooded face,
a Kalashnikov under the bed and the windows always sealed.
Today, I am far removed from the illicit,
with my scars, my skills, and my convictions.
I know how to get rich quickly,
and I am aware of the consequences of my actions.
I live with my nightmares and my regrets.
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