How much easier it would have been without
the memory of the humiliated gymnastics,
which, with the whipping of executioner ropes,
haunted new targets every day with fear of death;
only a few could understand the Truth of
the present out of blood-soaked eyes!
All human Judgments and murders could be
measured against these only then;
finally, every insidious glance was already
a murderous thorn in our vulnerable hearts
and we sobbed doomed to lonely orphanage like alamus,
pathetic worms while we looked down
at our own soul wells, gathering courage!
  
We could hardly hear that any of us had
committed suicide because they could not
bear the stigma-wounding evils of their bachelors!
The writing campaigns also started with Executioner jokes!
In a treadmill world, magnified evil also seems bigger, scarier!
*****-smiled male pillars practiced slap-dancing times
until the “others” could learn how to serve and pit at the same time?!
Washed, washed clothes also had to
be reused, and the torn Budmilos bag cost a lot!
  
There could have been no pathetic chance
for the Guardian to escape the apocalypse
of everyday terrorist hells to Infinity!
They were forced to tolerate the pain
of the usurper as a lifeless object;
the sentient Spirit was as much drained as
the foreign matter from the tendons of skeletal bones!