The metaphor of screening

     
    Every day I wake up as a stranger in the morning until I can get back to myself! The crease of my face: a hair-stricken, war map, an uninhabited oasis that lurks in Peace! My chubby, pathetic body is a crooked mirror of the functioning of my organs! They can hardly want to recognize me anymore - although I also think about hygiene with a razor blade every day! My existence radar, tormented in the rib-atrium of my chest, sends panting signs to the age of bean-busting Angels!
     
    It would still be bold to say no to a stubborn Death, a cutting Judgment, if the transporting blood in my set of molecular cells were not tiring! - The far-reaching echo of my orbiting lunar loneliness transmits incessant signals, sends valuable messages: s The cheap rag of word-rags will be even truer and more honest! - The Presence that is constantly grieving is petrified in me; I cannot dare live if I cannot feel that I can always count on Someone and as a patient Protective Angel always follows to the shadow of my heels!
     
    My heart may be - sometimes it just mimics how it beats! It has become terribly cumbersome in In there, but it is often more and more excruciating out there! I am still honest with myself! While my others say my broken scarecrow face is covered in masquerade! If something can touch: Stimulus or another brainstorming idea to cry back the compulsion that comes true: can I stand it ?! "Isn't the conscious compromise of Life a worm for me?" Tears shed their pearl petals from crusted crater eyes and often obscure everything Nivan's milky white desert! In my mortal existence, the tiny events of minutes immortally unite when I know that the fallen-Self I have learned in the other will die at any time! The Mirror presented to myself is sure to shine from the inside!