TIMES' SPINE ON THE TOP OF NOTHING

Human feet always recognize the sole finite goal of their existence-paths, yet compromising, false truths crumble them into smaller and smaller every day, because there are beating heart-chambers that are quite simply homeless. It would be nice - of course - to find some kind of migratory bird nests halfway, before it's too late, because now the burden of autumn, smelling of dung, is still weightless in the light.

 The breaking and breaking tug of intentions seems to be binding the average; inside everyone is familiar with the Calvary of Existence. Often no one can be any different, just an extra who has deliberately lost his role; forced to kneel among selfish loser-falls - not only the penitent, but also the decipherable corpus of recognitions, in the cacophonous, unworthy noise of misunderstandings, perhaps it is better if one finally lets go of many brainwashed, counterarguments that count to the core, because unfortunately, even when wise, they can be useless-stupid to the core. It would be good to rest a little on the spine of Time, which everyone received as a gift at the beginning of the counted birth, an army of fallen angels burns on the peak of Nothingness, standing guard and perhaps even protecting the Cassandra prophecy of humanity... 

Why do we have to wait for a lifetime of wasted time with increased, temporary attention to see how the abyss of the Underworld lies in wait after Being?! The incoming lava flow of diminishing lies infects us as an integral part of everyday life; their two-faced Janusz faces should be washed to the surface. Wasted, important decades pile up on us unnoticed, like latent old age, and we are less and less able to realize that we are always late and arrive late everywhere.