my own heart, the Quyothe of the Guardian Loyalty is thirsty for someone! I narrowly miss the haunting shadows of raven-feather nights when I think about how much I missed everything and missed the lovable connections of Being! How vulnerable every tiny human story has become, and one by one I would have escaped myself from the hyena-throat of fears that, like a fluttering herd, moan soul-splitting!
 
In me, maybe it's just the spent Pearl of Truth Human! My own flesh eats up my flesh and feasts moderately on my heart attack. If I were a true Man - I was already annihilated and I had to arrive at the scene of my selfish humiliation every day so that I would not descend into a arrogant slump! Sometimes I still feel the depth of my soul buried, crusted in the depths of the trench, I still guard and protect the vulnerable, shaky Child! Instead of the claws of self-milling, self-marking remains for the time being! The frantic shards of the scared tiger-flame Moon slit his flame arms into the wall of my room while constantly hurting and hurting me too! I’d rather be Robinson’s hermit, an all-survivor than a brainwashed, jerky idiot who drowns himself to a low standard every day to claim and grab his five-minute reputation pathetically but at all costs!
 
Indifferent and superficial In the hay of interest, I would rather not be a Victim - but in emigrant loneliness I am constantly protesting for Man until the pain can alleviate! With a vigilant-killer gaze, the World if I let him, ”he gritted his outstretched teeth at me,“ and once wouldn’t have asked, ‘Could you help?!