Complexity of things not visible

  
Outside you can't see the line of gaps, the ornate gates, the scarred windows that lead down into the depths of Golgotha's walked souls. A single tearful plea, a squeezed daily movement, defines our ruined days.

Thrown, witnessing stones all speak doom - but only beneath the surface. They tell of pre-existing, subconscious news, nursing scarring wounds. Temporary bliss read from cracked eggs, where the sins of the little man can be absolved by the feeble happy chanting of chanting chants that have been spanked just enough times over by the realistic little-thinker.

The insidious blindness of cataracts on eyelids. They never see or understand what they should. With a true consciousness of Death, unceasing pilgrim souls set out on their journey to the final end of the world...

For he who is forced to hide himself with purpose and deliberation becomes a little unresolvable, unknowable, and under the sinking surface his members are bending, trembling and living in his nest of quivering changes, hardening with every age.

Shell and shell of rock-shards in its core-housing Identified appeared Light and Space. It is always the gloom that saturates and becomes more unified! - The corroded loss of scattered days may one magic hour yet cease.

It is harder and harder to prevail through the heap of bounced compulsions, of fraudulent promises. He who is unconscious but in the atriums of the eye's eye's border, often thirsts for truth and honesty; he is devoured in sips by the melancholy  It is also increasingly difficult to prevail through the pile of imposed constraints and fraudulent promises. He who is unconscious only in the atriums of the eye's boundary, often thirsts for truth and honesty; he is devoured in sips by the unworthy Hangman's Time. Up and down we all may one day go in the same direction, where we have been waited for from the beginning. The unidirectional chimera of moments above in the power of butterfly-pupils flapping wings.