Feigning belated discord

The events of Time are waiting in ominous sequence in the musty cellars of the soul inside. They are summoned by honeyed, interrogating ghostly shadows, the vulnerable breeding of slave-monuments already continues! Disillusioned wakefulness splits its easily chopped stumps in heart-yards' courtyards, till the doom-forecasting tachicadria greets! Unlockable brain-bodies, even encrypted microchips, terrabytes preserved, even after certain death, the necessary, perpetuable information that we were once human. In the wild whirlpools of imagination, the negated, imagined dream is still a wave of waves, and a restful, deep sleep can best be compared to the wedding of Death orgies!

Someone is always constantly conjured by our ever-wandering thoughts. Silent cold war, howling nuclear winds rip through the coils of often complex nervous systems: fault lines dividing emotions - if left untreated - can spread our selfish, stubborn conflicts. In unknown deadlines we trust with curious fear, like most children! We expel from ourselves the ways of distant possibilities; and the changeable personality is always painted over with indigo, so that no traceable proof remains: here once existed an active man!

A trembling little finger trembles in every superstitious regard: when will he finally bring himself to boldly clasp loving hands?! - A deep, silent madness often rages in the diodes of our brain, and we still cannot understand: is it our memories that play a mischievous murderous game with us, or a locked wood-chamber of our consciousness?