Caught on the merciless defiance side of indifferent shadows, in the lap of filth-powdered wind-funnels, what can be identified as defenseless or even defenseless, I wonder what will happen if a person is insidiously mixed up in sterilized gestures and movements with an unflinching, statue-rigid face?!

The life belt of objects that provide intimate security will surely soon let go, while indifferent look-alikes stuck on the surface dictate the latest useless fashion, for trends. Even the unfinished things are not allowed to be properly completed.

Even the most beautiful harmony often becomes like the flapping of a butterfly's wing stuck on a needle. With a transparent umbilical cord cover, it would be nice to be securely attached to Someone even on invisible threads.

Without wings, the dreary days of Time swing in our unconscious self. Man has already become a leech, a parasite, rocking on the shores of Nothingness, lost in purpose: his swaddle is lack, and the even more useless emptiness, which - no matter how much he wants it - doesn't ask!

Unlucky souls, they all slide to the ground on the broken ice of the moment. The insidious creatures of the merciless, hectic hustle and bustle of everyday life could hide behind their contours. Disguised messengers and prophets of bygone times are forced to roam around in the bushes.

At a time of lurking, enticing, riotous danger, legend-dropping darkness, brainwashed idiots dream of just such fairy tales. – In the stillness of the wind, it becomes more and more difficult to break up the hazy night.

You have become what you never wanted to be in your whole life; closed book, closed door. You never denied yourself in a million ways, because you were guided by "be true to yourself" in your shipwrecked life; even so, you were pushed aside many times, trampled on, deliberately laughed at, and amidst the shackles and cries of public shaming, at least one person who would honestly lift you up would have been fine , and it helps.

A deafening silence embraces you with wailing despair, eternal promises that come to nothing, just like ice drops, sooner or later start to melt. You can't really warm up to a single word now, since most of those who stayed out there betrayed you a bit by always only promising their affairs and that they would visit you in a dignified and faithful manner. Your convulsive clinginess has become more of a curse than a blessing.

Distances have been impassable for a long time, because you don't know who's motivations might lie behind each manipulative, petty-puffing decision?! Ghost-shadows lying on the edge of alleys comfort your stubborn temper, even if you go behind the scenes of a sparsely lit, dim street detail. Now, all time-wasting rants are grouped into senseless, cacophony.

Your truth-begging sadness, just like your self-conscious orphanhood, is still holding on, but - maybe - not for long. You still have to somehow scrape together tooth and nail and preserve your inner independent freedom, while - for now - they can't censor it, and they can't even ban it. The grim, rowdy, petty man-million damns me! As a stone on the side of the road, somehow you're just out there listening more and more humbly!

Sooner or later, the person himself will be crushed, he will compromise in the indifference-silent uncertainty that drags the averages; it is necessary to clean open stigmatic wounds daily with Lethe water. Will and just compromise kills with cursed Nessus poisons. It would be good - at least - once in a while to evaluate things and actions from the other side in detail to examine an essential, significant perspective.

Duplicated, meaningless, pitiful chattering mouths should be locked. Your mother's protective wing can comfort and cherish less and less; after all - says the World - you yourself became an adult as an eternal child. How did you really cry out your miserable, shipwrecked childhood?! Hard to believe. If every five minutes you still find yourself crying in a dark, lonely alley, where even the saving tiger light can penetrate less and less often.

- Now the rude, snarky Time is asking you some Apocryphal question marks; the self-awareness wearing the Janus mask disguised as loyalty and trust is branching out, looking for a selfish and stubborn place. Whether it's sliding down from the edge of steep banks that collapse at any time, it's rarely worth giving a helping hand - you often feel that your everyday worries have towered over your head, and it would be better to retreat once and for all to the universal tower of silence.

The constantly falsifiable facts seem to constantly raise their hangover faces at you, while the hungover, groggy mornings unexpectedly hit you in the face, you know: The world is never ashamed of other people's sins, because it has never felt guilt, moral inhibition - not that much - but it has never felt. The unsmiling, rat-gnawed pulsation of the city is also becoming more and more unrestrained, giving rise to repulsive nausea and nausea...

The Ordas-like night roars like a flute in the Senkiház wind. A population of wild fowl scurrying around human animals scatter their disposable Janus masks. On the face of two crypts, a worn, time-stretched memory wave-law rattles, while large stones bearing witness in tearful eyes toss and turn to their heart's content.

On the frozen backwaters of trees with skeletal claws, crows' wings croak and flutter, proclaiming ominous myths.

I don't intentionally wander in jungle machine music, in a peppered crowd of people. Rather, in the tame warmth of my home, I try to wait for the mysterious destinies of the blind and invisible threads of Fate.

In curved mirrors, my familiar face hits me. Snarling disguises and bloodthirsty men swirl in a buzzing mass of cats. Another year passes and I question myself: Who was I once? and who could I be now?! In another life, the impersonation of myself could act bravely, armed with temperament.

Even then, he wouldn't want to beg for validation, immortal love, final permission to die. I've already built a solitary confinement, a cage around my onion-skin soul, because everything I once believed in can't be degraded into an insidious, calculating lie?!

The rainbow can be broken into pieces by the light, if the gullible eye allows it as an optical illusion. Therefore, it is better to feel sincere emotions with beating hearts, when I feel that every superstitious look has deceived and deceived me at the same time, as if the secret, heavenly signs and every honestly spoken word were just tinsel toys, I don't want to be angry with anyone anymore, I can only quietly make a separate peace and then die out!

A little snail whose
Shell was shiny and
He moved with
Such grace at a
Leisurely pace and the
Snail always left
Behind a slimy trail.

My grass was so green
And it was the
Prettiest sight I've ever seen and it was always so green and
It swayed in the breeze
And rustled with ease
*** my green grass is the loveliest
I've ever seen.