It's still on the verge

  
I still look around at this unrestrained, revenge-hungry, changed World; My desperate fear drags me between immeasurable abysses. An unknown force forces me to do the inevitable many times. Like everywhere else.

Fate, as an unknown stranger, begins to work here as well. Flaming pieces of stone fly, fallen Janus heads. The free-thinking spirit crawls crushed, dragging itself along. There can be no more backtracking! No flattening. Does doing something count as protest?!

Willingness became shame. Out of cowardice, total exhaustion - the Soul shrinks its pitiful self for good; he observes himself from the inside. He realizes that he hid himself in indifferent inaction, rather fled.
My heart beats arrhythmically, pounding, like a restless volcano writhing under the oceans. The infinite equinox of happiness that can be found is now intentionally left out. In the tunnels of blood vessels, blood clots are thrown one after the other by the industrious army of millions of ants, and I leave it. Of course, out of good intentions, the heart attack is spared, although my blood pressure is still high.

The mass scene of silent wounds emerges more and more steadfastly from the stained Time. The emaciated, tear-filled eye-socket gazes greedily with revenge and satisfaction, until the person is actually surprised by the pre-wind of Death, believed to have been redeemed.

How finite and vulnerable are the past and the many minutes and scales that yearn for memory in it. Sensitive, no frills romance is hidden among spiky vertebrae, in a basket of lurking rib cages. Among the moody hells of explosive narcissism, it becomes less and less clear: who is friend and who is enemy?!