S.T.I.C.S-Poets – The Swedish Problem

*Picks up paper from the desk*

“I refuse to be the ancestor of a coward,
so a survivor I am, the right DNA I had, the darker the dreams the darker the tan…”

The letter begun, I zoomed out of the paper that was in my hand and looked around the room, there were,
maggots slowly eating off of the eyeballs of the…not so much remaining of a human being,
the swedish problem‎, you see.

Not until like the 5th letter came from the tax office about having to, repay back the bills that were not being paid automatically anymore, …meaning. Once every in the bluemoon they update their software,
and ‎would ask you to confirm…

This body has been rotting for about one and a half years, before anyone ever took notice.

…THEY, ARE LONELY.

There is a fond that gives money to projects that go right back into society, the same society that left you and a variety of hardworking people – dying for the company, now – dying because of no company.

When you can’t…face your problems you wear a mask, and come to think about it… this letter looked like it had been written with a sloppy …arm,
the expensive bottle of happy juice seemed to have worked its charm.

Such a cold country, if only those long working hours with heated discussions could keep one warm.
Food for thought for hungry minds, who have been forced to fast their whole lives, but,
could never understand a co-worker who needed to fast, so he lies…
the swedish problem.

‎Not understanding how so many can claim that only cash is king,
when clearly so many great kingdoms were ruled by daughters… whom learnt about respect from their fathers.

Amazed…The social worker looked at the body and noticed how the smell of dried feces had carved a circle around the dark – blue – jeans – on the, dark wooden floor.

Alphabetically categorise their names and pondered if a lot of:
Anne-Britt Carina, Dan-Erik, Filip and Gösta,
ever hoped for their granddaughters to come and knock on their door.

…Framed pictures were turned facing the wall, he turned them around, tried to understand this man in the pictures pain…
the prototype picture that came with the frame was still in its frame??
the only constant thing in life is change, yet,

he couldn’t find a way to change-his-work,
bet he wanted to pray but, could never really -make-it-work.

…so the social worker called Johan,
because Johan worked for an agency within the Swedish society that took care of ceremonies when ceremonies like this were needed.

Johan used to open his speech by saying
“None cared for Mr or Ms,
but as a society we’ve had our lips stuck together for so long that even a longed for farewell kiss could be missed,”

I’m talking about a man who ‎even started smoking at the age om 30,
just to be able to have a reason to connect with the special type of conversations that were made during smokebreaks.

But his fate …was destined with no faith,
but then again his faith in humanity was that none would leave him to be this alone.

…how this country can be so cold.

‎That’s when the thought INSTANTLY hit my mind,
who will bury him?
I mean would YOU attend?
would you go to sports events or foster homes in areas far away from your own timezone ?

…will you be happy that you have somebody,
the letter continued…

“I only ever had one buddy,
and she used to tell me not to worry,
‎because there are always more fish in the sea, yet…
I couldn’t understand how she managed to catfish me”

The socialworker finally realised what the dead man’s memoirs were trying to say…

he wrote:
‎”and I don’t know who you are or how you will find this note, but thank you, for finally being someone, that saw me”.

‎He looked down from the memoir,
than glazed at the body…
than looked at his notes that wrote,
cause of death…‎broken heart syndrome.

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