See you in captivity How many times have I wished, when I was a grass-boy, to creep into the actors' dressing rooms through the secret snail passages, like an invisible, otherworldly friendly ghost, a wandering spirit. It would have been nice then, disappointed and a little cheated, to step onto the spacious, creaking boards and, like Pious Yorick, Fastaff, or Graciano, with his head held high among the spectators, confessing the petty, naive, seemingly innocent, holy lies of everyday life.

Oh, in my mind I was greeted in Thalia's noble panopticon as an old returning guest who would only stay until he could see his favorite actress's face up close and wish her: "Big hat" - for her public appearance.

- A sly joke, a human gesture - the theater didn't do much, because money was always coming down the drain, and because an actor's hands were always tied! He sticks a drawn smile, a glued halo, angel wings on himself, so that the average person would always believe faithfully that Reality was just a kind of forgivable, idyllic appearance, a childish little nonsense. I could never understand how anyone could play a character and radically transform his or her mundaneness, behavior, etiquette and whatnot - why is it that after stepping off the boards that represent the world, the murderer would take over hubris-arrogance, haughty phlegm-excellence?!

"That was just a role, Dear Sir! I hope you understand!" - he replied. - I watched the sadness and restless hurt flow in my vulnerable soul and, like an orphaned child, I burst into tears in protest in one of the renovated restrooms, while outside the great play that deceived everyone was still going on!

When I had met them for the last time, I was forced to lie in the depths of wild, proliferating Christian bushes, like a thief fat sarcoma, but not to hit any more; The enforced, deeply hidden, brutal-backing age asked me to testify and obey several times. They had no idea that the last time would be.

Now, only I look at the bench-windows of the time, close-up doors that closed, rusted doors in the alarm, spiclishes-it would have been good, like an invisible, stray shadow only to disappear once more, to disappear in the alley of the streets ...

For the curse of the presence on the wall of the Commissioner is still shining, which, as a disease, was with me from the cursed childhood; Infections of the polarities that are tensioned with each other, the infections of the small atagonisms, can be almost cozy. "Certainly, because life is increasingly absurd, nonsense, uncertain, just like the free -thought intellect, which has an increasingly expandable border and endpoints."

Can the human soul be excluded from itself; you. that you want to stay less and less for adults?! Instead, he would choose the minutes of carefree, playful childhood, and a momentary joy: it would be good to climb a smaller hill so that one could at least see through our stone walls!

In the light years of living lives, they walked, hoped, and even believed in the so -called. the sacred law of intermediate priority; But whenever they traveled, the Golgotás's Gehenna's Chinese became a bit more and more disappointed, disappointed from the curses of swamps. Ten hangman-fingers shone in their weeds. Should the passage of times really only be accepted with insight, not to celebrate the counts as a holiday?!

As an irreparable sucker, they stagnate, even for a lifetime, even those who have been eternal children as a reward for playful curiosity and have not yet worshiped. Absolute adults thought as all -powerful power. He did and word, as if he is deprived of rights and weightless than the feather easily, but once he has a sifus lead weight, it falls under the waters of glazed stones.

Our time, even the smallest, is spinning, light laws, like a whirlwind back and forth; It is precisely useless to count the curvature of existence as a birthday candle. Because sooner or later, everyone will cheat on themselves if you can't take care of it anymore. Because nowadays there are so many fierce porchine, Komis-Bohaem Part-Faced Queen, who have been well known for a full-fledged manner because they have left themselves petty-kis style, and have been bribed by showbuisons.

Like a little kid, who is frightened of total silence and nights of the nights, and crying, and crying, because the little lamp of the nursery also paints horror, goblins, monsters in front of them - their doors, windows, gates are deliberately locked up, if they know,

Under the pressure of our soles, there are increasingly sacrificial heads, who we have ever met in divine, and when they were caught and trampled on, as well as fate, as they were surplus. Kuruttyol is so many gray-color pigeons above us, while in a careless, unfriendly moment, Guáno's blood is on our unsuspecting heads. The handful of survivors started on the road, but only on the ground of realities.

There are so many celebrity-thistles on TV as a beneficial, promising excuse on TV, while deliberately shattering about the most necessary things; Antantic ants are now wearing the sincere lie, like the fake of the conveyor belt, while crumpled, liver-spotted hands stroke the judas.

Time, though, is still moving, but in broken -winged ribs, the conscious sorrow has been building a nest for some time; Instincts and thoughts are already wrapped around themselves, as they cannot know the firm conviction from their selfish, petty shackles.

Fearful in the ninive, a big city of coastal can rarely be rescued; Rather, he just tolerates his guest visitors. It is as if the soon -to -be -collapsed card castles, massive cobblestones, were falling out of our lives.

Our nails are carried into meat, as the points of contact have long been gone; It is hardly possible to hold on to more and more cramped. The soul has already been desperate, because liberated silence cannot help anymore!

How many miles
Must one roam
To find a place
That feels like home;
What does it need
Lest it decay
And leave me to wander
Yet again;
If there is such place
Where I feel free
I really just hope
That you're there with me

whispers in the winds breathing,
Never is it screaming.
The wisp of wind Is Calling us,
Yet hides its own true meaning.

Bound to the silence of forever,
Flowing without fail.
A sacred truth buried in what?
Truth is, it cannot tell.

Mountains stand as structures so strong,
These relics deemed eternal.
Layers form masses. Time gently passes.
That stand as nature’s journal.

The bitterest truth is etched in stone,
Carved deeply into they’re being,
Yet bound to a fate, that nothing awaits.
They’re cursed with never leaving.

Like the ocean’s forceful,
Mighty sway, that never truly moves.
Seeming to be as boundless as me,
Yet made to traverse in set grooves.

The waves that crash, display a mask,
For it only expands to recoil,
An infinite realm of life within,
To never feel the soil.

The sun will rise, then set, then rise.
The fate that has no fate at all.
It treads a path consistent to last,
But will not and can never fall.

It soars as if it stands for freedom,
A slave to this deception,
For in its path, it’s truly shackled
To this haunting misconception.

The grand clock's perpetual winding,
That never is fully wound.
Delaying or pausing, just not an option.
And no filter quiets the sound.

The hands of time that hold the scroll,
Unable to write the plot,
Emotion within its aching sound,
Expressing a purpose wrought.

The metaphysical body walks,
It thinks, it feels, it reacts.
Emotions wide open, truths unspoken.
My mind expands but to retract.

My conscious subdued by truths untrue.
This lie that's so deeply instilled.
We exist to consume from cradle to tomb,
In this cage that we've named "free will".

Love, an intrinsic part of human nature
Defined by each person in their own way

To some, the start of something beautiful
To others, a vulnerability that can be exploited

Love, a leveler of mighty men
And a lifter of mere men

Love, a mirror that shows who we truly are
And the lens through which we're truly seen

To some, it's the glue that holds us together
To others, it's the force that tears us apart

Love, an intense emotional experience
So powerful that it brings a sense of fulfillment to those who choose to taste its fruits

Love, the beginning, the end and everything in between.

The salty stream of pain streaks across my face
And my mind lost in an ashen haze,
I yearn for an understanding gaze,
But the world is lost in their own maze.
Standing on the ledge of annihilation; screaming give me a reason

Was a child of the summer,  my soul used to shimmer.
The morning daylight that once made my heart  flutter,
Now charrs my back to the colours of dying embers.
Standing on the ledge of annihilation ; screaming give me a reason

I used to finger paint the world with vibrant hues.
This sadness, silent but wailing for rescue,
And its underpainting has dappled me blue.
Standing on the ledge of annihilation; screaming give me a reason

My heart is tired of flooding blood to this prison.
The cuts  now bleed crimson.
My own thoughts have committed treason.
Standing on the ledge of annihilation; screaming give me a reason