IN A STORM OF LEAKY BLOOD-SOULS

 The seemingly crowded nerve poisons of everyday life seem to be gradually drumming in the molehills of your hearing ear; you don't even notice how your sweaty palms feel for the rusting keys of the memory crumbs of your past. You cherish the hard-to-bear laundry of your days in your depraved head for days on end. In this current Age, nothing else can be a vigilant, hunted fugitive; your life - I fear - may never truly catch up with you if you always deliberately run away from it. The thirsty, vulnerable blood-soul is still being immersed. 

You would still wait for that certain inner, compelling spiritual burden to be eased somewhere, sometime, by someone, but you are unable to accept that the sober interest of helping can no longer eradicate worms.

 Because in this current distorted, flawed World, the tears of missed lives seem to be running like endless movies; the corruptible silence of conscious uncertainty is straining itself, a soul explosion that is about to die out would be pulled home like a rough magnet. The impossible spasm, like some strange, inexplicable dream image, still holds you captive - but maybe - not for long. 

The empathy poison of acceptance still glows unwaveringly within you, but of course only if you allow yourself to become even more vulnerable, more exposed, because the scenes of life must also be wallpapered so that the conscious Lack can be lived... Because unconsciously, endless cosmic rivers are being built inside you, like a labyrinth, which the knotted, gloomy anxiety has built within you. 

One day - if you really wanted to - you could tear apart the gigantic bridges of your complicit silence. Your longing anticipation could also be buried under the guise of undemandingness. Your emptiness that is moving inward becomes more and more vile, more meaningless, as you try to fit together the puzzle pieces of your uncertain Future with melancholy.