THE END OF FALSE LIVES

 Many, many bitter curses, scattered by thieves - if one is not careful - will consume one. Every spoken word, deed, will, and movement will hurt one, like a shard of broken glass. Today, everything and everyone is suspicious; yet I cannot believe that they sincerely and completely want it. Fate, like a deceitful crack, still seems to petrify within the Time-shell, our sacrificial life is still not enough for this current vile and barren Age. The silence of a box of petty, petty secrets creeps under our skin, from which it is impossible to finally extricate even with skillful care.

 The deceitful, feigned compulsion seems to already be hanging faded shadows on existence, which seems to be everyone's own, because only those who rejoice in the success of greedy selfishness can redeem themselves a certificate of poverty. Duality is now the Doom of everything; The rattling chains of small, petty connections increasingly shackle the vulnerable, perhaps just as much as the wealthy. Because now it seems that people can come to terms with their own mafia more and more easily, not only with the present situation of the commie.

 In the filth of their everyday lives, the increasingly scarce, whining Reality purrs, the Sisyphean burden of days packed into endless hours is now increasingly difficult, more bitter to bear completely; black holes have to carry their ominous words. It is a loss to scrape the Golgotha ​​dirt of the earth from the crypt faces of frail people with even ten nails. Perhaps they would do better if they rebelled against the false, glittering, tempting illusion that the appearance of Life now faithfully offers to "some" in exchange for the expected gift.

 On the battlefield of change of location, little people, great minds, and intellectual gurus can kick the ball less and less. On the movable, wavering border of nothing and something, they should have held on securely in the alliance of a few well-meaning friends, who would have remained primarily Human in the inhumanity.