INNER SOUL-TENSION

Like encrypted spies of the Executioner-Times, the eye sockets of your life now stare into the gaping, indifferent nothingness; they would try to decipher the series of daily Apocrypha-encrypted riddles, which the rags-to-riches life - like everyone else - inflicted on man. A deep silence lurks in you, the kind of childish, anguished abandonment that can only be alleviated by the vision of the idyllic Beloved, if he even remembers you at all, although you can believe less and less that all your aborted, mad ax attempts give rise to futility.

Was the hurt of betrayal greater in you, when they trampled you down, humiliated, hoping that they could make your exposed cowardly stupidity equal to the yellow earth, your stubborn stubbornness insignificant and you became like the stout, unbreakable walnut shell, on which neither hammer nor chisel can touch. It's even better that you were voluntarily banned from all pack associations. Look on the bright side of things! That way, you can at least keep your naive, self-deprecating, hesitant childishness and you don't need to degenerate into an absolute, morose adult, like those who no longer want to believe and hope in magic, everyday miracles.

Without questions and answers, your compromising instincts expanded and became more mature, but everyday, beneficial suspicion also took place in your inner molecules. - Now your happiness has sunk deep, and you would have had to believe, deceiving yourself, that someone is waiting for you somewhere... Joking, sad, pitiful clown of the stepfather Fate, now you are still rootless and soilless standing alone in yourself, freshly washed you carry hope behind you like Sisyphus' stones.