The budding romantic morning of summer, like a colorful veil, is now torn into tiger stripes; the musty-smelling darkness of Sikátor is unraveling from itself in strands. Man would like to throw off not only his nightmares, like a worn, worn, worn-out coat, but also the germs of human-smelling, two-faced evil. Like a thick, impassable door, which can lead to who knows where - all the sinful sins of infinity close on us unnoticed. that we have become mortal, and our immortal soul cannot be completely independent, free, locked in the cage of our body. Even now, above every dream-career, a rubbed, greedy, petty condor vulture circles, feasting on the remains of mooching prey. It would be good if we could strip our inner souls of finite sadness, like the secret anatomy of sorrow, because inside – often barely noticeable – a firm barking that wants to whine how loudly roars.

Man always dies a little in his Sisyphean selfishness, he can never fully understand the helpless absurdities of filling up. Hour by hour, not only conscious small-mindedness grows, but also the universally expanded fear of failure and success, according to which: no one can be good enough either for himself or for the great, hypocritical World. In crypt faces, increasingly vile, evil grotesque grins look at witnesses, hypocritical prophets, like grimaces.

The selfishness of the world first necessarily consumes, but also surprisingly often buries its defenseless victims, who would still have clung to something. Wrapped up in petty sermons of words, like pupae, people mostly betray and betray themselves first. Fewer and fewer people can take an understanding look at the precise evidence of corruption!

Welcome to the museum of untold stories!

Let me show you around, the exhibits alluring!

First, a wedding dress unworn. Unseen.

A love letter never opened, folded at the seams.

Or how about a hug left wide open?

A cup of tears stuck hoping?

Not your speed? How about a shooting star not wished upon.

Maybe a heart left broken.

A broken doll, parts now gone.

There's this door, that's been left open and forgotten.

How do you feel about this mind, that's always asking?

Wait. You weren't supposed to see that...

A mind that's mine, but surely you saw it?

Why are you looking at me like that? Like I fascinate you...

Like my actions are unusual... Like I'm on display...

You look at me like you look at them. The exhibits. My... Exhibits.

Wait! Don't go!
...
...
...
Who am I without you here?

Do I continue to exist, when you continue to live on outside this glass world...

Am I the missing punchline of some cruel joke?

Am I a whisper doomed to be left unheard?

Am I part of this exhibit... Cursed to tell stories with no ending.

Am I... The untold story?

An untold story... In this unheard of exhibit, In an unseen museum.

In my hand I hold your cold dead heart, not some semblance of it, but a absolute monstrosity, torn apart.

Were you able to see it, I'm sure you would agree, it's dark ,black, simply ugly.

I've considered dropping it off, at the post office you see, mail it as far away as can be.

Have it placed in, an iron box in chains, sunk to the bottom of the ocean, in Davies locker,it would remain.

Every time I get up, to do just that, I squeeze at bit harder, with both hands.
Refusing to release it,let it go. In fear, I am not sure why, your dead, I fallow, must go. ©

She looks into the distance,  staining her eyes to see, barley catching a brief flicker, of his dark hair, it must be he.

From above, the storm clouds roll, in the darkness of the moment, she knew what the prophecy foretold. Suddenly she knew what had to be done, under her sleeve, came her tiny had, still covered in her ****, from yesterday's blood stand.

Mind swimming in madness, fever chills, all she can hear, a loud voice kept repeating,****,****,**** it said.

NO, She screams, but no sound came forth, cought in her chest, the bolt of a crossbow, through her back,its razor sharp blades, born.

As he lifts her small, white body, he notices,  the smile upon her lips.
My lady he whispers, as he began to understand.

With her last breath, she raised her hand, bringing it down through his back, a dagger, he knew he was dead.

As he fell upon her, shock on his face, then and there he knew he loved her, for saving him from the kings cruel fate.......... ©