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    I cannot exist visibly, present - only invisible. I do not negotiate with those who serially break the established human laws. Rarely can I just feel that I can be a precious One among many.

    I just feel that tomorrow's hell-shelter will sink me into a seething pit, humiliate me, and that I will stick to it, like flypaper or smelly technocol-glue, stigma marks must fall from my eye sockets.

    It would have been better if he hadn't pulled a suicidal nugget. If only scattered in the human sea of ​​cells and molecules - but still in something mortal in the direction of final annihilation.

    I didn't want to be such a sudden must-want dust eye, who walks around in a conditional incognito for a lifetime, and yet collects deliberately scratched wounds. To suddenly disappear into infinity with a single calculated move.

    A gentle, silent culture settles on me too, and you can believe that I have met you. And like derogatory sympathy, like a large group of little mice fleeing ferocious cats - I was deliberately thrown aside, because they never wanted to get to know me.

    I would love to see you when the eyes of Heaven, thirsty for the immortal compliments of romantics, would expect the pilgrimage routes of trust and loyalty, even strange stations of existence, when you have to confess to really get to know anyone!