KNOTS OF FORCED DISTRUST

In the deadlands of our torments - I fear - perhaps only our own shadows are wandering lifeless, as if an invisible sense of shame or a whiplash had secretly struck us, hypocritical gestures, misleading, empty promises become palpable.

 There is often a smell of unnameable expectation in the air, as when heroic lovers wait for the right moments of the Universe to finally be fulfilled and then, somewhat absent-mindedly, they apologize if things did not turn out the way they both thought and planned. The tree of hope often bears poisonous, wormy fruits, which should not be eaten, because it makes even broken-winged souls sick; it would often be better to free ourselves from our own shackles - if possible - for someone to hold our hands and help us through one world to another.

 The abandonment of the longed-for solitude seems to hardly change what individual people actually think. The massive longing called incurable also settles on the inner consciousness, because it lets itself go. While decades come and go, crying over the person's pigeon-headed head, he crouched helplessly, dissatisfied with his own defenselessness that has become helpless; he was raised on the breasts of vulnerability.

 Why is it that even then the despair nicknamed permanent grabs him by the collar and does not let him go. Compulsive distrust, like an evil accomplice-spy, seems to deliberately stick its gorgon-head between the person and the difficult everyday life. It would be good if the person could not only feel like an orphaned child who finally found his way home.

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

This feels like a fever dream of a borderline personality disordered person's nightmare within. Well done.