CROCODILE TEARS IN A DEEPING PIT

 It's not a problem if you see me covered in crocodile tears; I carry the weight of my sins like a pillar, like heavy millstones. You don't have to feel sorry for me, although it would be good - of course only sometimes - for you to pull me up from the depths of the bottomless gaping pits towards the light. It's enough that in the morning - if I'm not paying attention - even dogs urinate on my half-Italian imitation leather shoes. 

It's enough that cosmos stars shine silver above me, because I can know: here on this earth I was born mortal and that new generations of people, vile historical eras will survive me too. It's not necessary for you to kick me, there's already enough blue-green-purple hidden under the poles of my monocle-sore skin, which only a few, if any, know about. Although it would be more useful if I were helped by some helpful intentions and the consolation of protection.

 Because now I am still forced to grope around in the deep darkness of the cellar, so that I can not only cling to my memories - but also safely find my own path of refuge, which will accompany me through the rest of my stormy life. I will become a mumbling, shrinking, self-torturing soul within myself, if I want to, if it is not necessary to explain to bustling, mean people why life is the way it is and why it can no longer be changed tooth and nail. 

Why is the saving human goodness and empathy now delayed?! Because not even the palm of the Universe can carry me anymore, like the sackers I carry towards the Infinite my heavy, scraping stones, which can only testify about me, since they have nothing to do with anyone else. Now the Executioner's Time has been cut in half and the so-called human laws, as if they had been destroyed or stolen by more and more people who I thought would be my eternal friends.