Departing life-time

 
Doubt lurks behind Time in an infected, alamussy school, the last hope behind a gray toothless tooth, because the syrupy reality pinged from the cards of daydreams is often, stubbornly deceptive.

Self-delusion has become a pious offense, if only unknown loneliness can be a person's only companion. Balance can only rarely unfold, like a palm. Even the appearance of survivability could be reduced to a cheaply inflated, false password.

How dead-ended were all the yew-flowered hopes. The total lack of your measured human face is always reflected in your everyday life. With fragmentary articulations, the past testifies and answers at the same time. If you do something wrong, he scolds you and warns you. You couldn't be a diamond knockback for a long time, neither in flesh nor in cells.

Time is simultaneously registered to the nervous self. Space and memory break down into unlearnable reflex movements. They were all hurt by their previous form as well, they were further wounded by Being, which you could have thought was Whole!

You could neither reconcile yourself nor push for separate peace compromises. You listen with your ears to the humming waves of ancient seas, as waves and foam crash against the hardened stone bodies of rocks; in your sleep that has become shoreless, you continue to burn, annihilate, and consume your pathetic self.

The restless soul in you is not quieted by its murmuring voice. You have never been part of a grace that is shared and encouraged. Your miserable life could be taken away, but it's almost impossible to add to it: your stubborn stubbornness has no match, because no one can be selfish enough, and even the rules fall into separate categories with you. "You are turning into a slowly dissipating white gloom and a myth!"