Melancholia

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I arouse darkness
In people closed to me
Unintentionally
Or being aware of it, it’s not clear to me,
Neither to them
It’s heavy, massive and makes them pissed off
Mainly on me, or themselves
As they say
It’s not clear to them
I will never love a women the way I love you –
a man once told me, – but I cannot stand to be with you,
Because I want to kill you,
So he will date other girls, he said
That he will never love the way he loves me,
Those girls are not storms, hurricanes and volcanoes,
I guess
At some point I get really pissed off,  – another man said to me recently. –  It’s something I think you carry somehow on to me. Not sure what.
I believe them, I recognize it, avoiding to name it
this malignant tumor of my soul which often makes me cry for no reason
It cannot be removed with any surgery, or cured in anyway,
Not even with the fact that they love me and that I love them…
There’s a lover in the story
But the story’s still the same 
As Leonard Cohen says
You want it darker
We kill the flame 
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