As if in every remaining case that has begun to be torn apart, there is secretly a late self-accusation for our past sins; increasingly indifferent excuses of slave robots, because everyone will find out sooner or later, confronting themselves with it, according to which: they only wasted decades consciously.
Confused, snapping, we crowd with needle-pointed tiger teeth, growling, on the increasingly small, unworthy donkey-ladder of Being, hoping that they will still notice us and offer us new meaningless opportunities. Because it is no longer possible to satisfy our greedy hunger if we do not have our daily allowance; we are forced to watch with closed mouths the trampled, intentionally tripped loser-stupid fools.
The increasingly armored crocodile skin of lies is less and less possible to finally pierce. In the massive underworld paths of human jungles, a evasive bargain spirals around, bending over the heads of the majority. As if everyone is now looking for pitiful pincers, gaps in the ever-thickening, massive twilight; because now they accuse with lies more and more professionally, not even looking at evidence that resembles objectivity, they throw settled, strange lifelines to those seeking help less and less often when they are sinking.
More and more people are slouching in delicate, precisely movable retreats - as if you. pink-palmed people would push all day long for a small morsel of bread.
Digging trenches are drawn between Sisyphean falls by everyday actions, behind every proud apology there is no longer any truer will. In the alamus-singing torments of beatings, those who have been involved can only count on themselves. Silence, which degenerates into silence, can rarely speak back to the disheartened. The average individual is surrounded by a daily dose of animal-being, and because it suits him, he does not speak up or sue as a superfluity.
Nov 17, 2025
Nov 17, 2025 at 2:04 AM UTC
As if in every remaining case that has begun to be torn apart, there is secretly a late self-accusation for our past sins; increasingly indifferent excuses of slave robots, because everyone will find out sooner or later, confronting themselves with it, according to which: they only wasted decades consciously.
Confused, snapping, we crowd with needle-pointed tiger teeth, growling, on the increasingly small, unworthy donkey-ladder of Being, hoping that they will still notice us and offer us new meaningless opportunities. Because it is no longer possible to satisfy our greedy hunger if we do not have our daily allowance; we are forced to watch with closed mouths the trampled, intentionally tripped loser-stupid fools.
The increasingly armored crocodile skin of lies is less and less possible to finally pierce. In the massive underworld paths of human jungles, a evasive bargain spirals around, bending over the heads of the majority. As if everyone is now looking for pitiful pincers, gaps in the ever-thickening, massive twilight; because now they accuse with lies more and more professionally, not even looking at evidence that resembles objectivity, they throw settled, strange lifelines to those seeking help less and less often when they are sinking.
More and more people are slouching in delicate, precisely movable retreats - as if you. pink-palmed people would push all day long for a small morsel of bread.
Digging trenches are drawn between Sisyphean falls by everyday actions, behind every proud apology there is no longer any truer will. In the alamus-singing torments of beatings, those who have been involved can only count on themselves. Silence, which degenerates into silence, can rarely speak back to the disheartened. The average individual is surrounded by a daily dose of animal-being, and because it suits him, he does not speak up or sue as a superfluity.
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