I just found my poetry book from one hundred years ago (or may be 15..), and I just wanted to share a few things from there. This is one of my teenager poems:

After a lot of good days,
This is a bad one.
I gotta keep strong, always.
But what to do when the strength is gone?

It’s a nasty addiction,
Keeps on asking my attention,
I wih it would be fiction,
But sometimes I only feel the tension.

This atmosphere in my body parts,
It’s strange, what is going on?
Then the aching starts,
It will just go on and on.

Until I grab my skin,
Scratch it all, till it’s gone, the pressure.
But I’d be better off if I’d begin,
Begin to keep myself together: it is the only measure.

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