The uncertainty that had already been crushed halfway between my teeth, like some deliberately fragmented emergency bird; The prison island of the weekdays is disappointed. Filling clichés are pushed by a perceived-to-deceive sensation, so many hand-catching promises, which, at the time of its conclusion, is blurred into a violent bargaining bargain. The heavy, cumbersome chains of long -term self -references are rusty, but they cannot break.

What matters to the moldy, Avitt scents of the semi-cooked black coffee, which you have to empty to the bottom, if you want to start with a healthier self-esteem. What do the yellowed, exposed pearl-glossy, brilliant smiles, which once flirted with the guardian fires of immortal fulfillment, flirted, and when two hearts could find each other at home.

Now, black herringds are piercing the tissues of the brain first to formulate thoughts and questions incessantly, and then the soul is inner and more spirally received well from their bleeding stigma. Placed, designed goals, ideas - feared - can never take shape and body again, because there is always someone who deliberately hits, or willingly will volunteer their fellow human beings.

Laughing wolf herds also have ironed, expensive well-defined suits to make busy, useful, useful shops, while the simple average only eats the brush between the unfortunate, while the Taracks are not surprised. Because the ghost-shades are tossing hangman on the little men's heads!

Like the winged oak hood, the wounded soul is increasingly closing the petal; which remained faithfully. He could never want anything but believe in ourselves. Delived, if you need to do ready -made will, modest, noble humility, until you can. Perhaps the secret to everything is that it remains a bribe in one place - but it is resistant.

He expects a receipt and hopes for the nirvana-nothing's *******, giving up existence as a careless, twisted minute, and he will not deliberately greet himself if he cannot understand something that has nothing to do with the transparent coordinate system. He understands sooner or later, like the overgrown head, that he was not referenced to himself, in a lonely loneliness because it is so cool or fun-but because he needed the momentary illusion of his calm.

They turn over his head faint, almost invisible decades of decades, which have lost historical ages, or that no one may remember enough; Baja will sooner or later come to everyone.

For even now the bribery-surviving soul is increasingly sinking into itself; Not only the alchemy of the bodies, but also the unceasing spiral passage of the bodies, preserves a vomiting, difficult look. The coast of logical reason should never leave or get rid of it, which is a matter of thinking, because it gives a question of a suspicious question of a falsified age!

The fierce fervor is as if every minute of drawing a lot of tolerant psychology with straight lines; The unmarked play of rope-nerves, whether some amateur, or rope dancing, falls on the face of our rope dancing days, overlooks spider web. It would also be good to redraw the whimsical shadows, while they can be scrambled so that they can not be treated in any way.

Not only can the crowded tyrants be replaced by the crowded, constantly competitive, shaped career desire, but also the betrayed love if he can follow a desire for selfishness and possession. - interrogating handshake, unexpected redemption of the things that have happened in the past as answers,- because the conscious deficiency almost always closes its open soul-doors, because now it is now, as if it were to be filled with *****, bargaining, agony; Sooner or later, human memory and fate-nourished blindfold are all over-the-go, and it will end what it may have been.

Cause and cause of swinging scales, as if they were going on, it would be tense on a single desk until it bounces; The wise man makes himself a sacrifice so that no other miscalculation hurts are caught by otherwise. In the lost haze of stateless roads, even the blind moles and fits are marching without a flashlight; They don't even know where they can go, so far they only smell the nasal smells.

Once we will judge a draft, underworld walks, where Virgil himself will be a guide to our guide; Prepaid suspicion puts a beetle in our ears again and again.

It is becoming increasingly difficult to survive in the court of time-spinning frog-kingdoms, since - it seems - worms and insect offspring seem to be permanent, and faithful ***-lickers and sole-lickers continue to appear in the long, slimy trails of snails. A well-known game of chance, just like the Russian roulette tricked into the spleen, will be a predictable downfall at the same time, since the person himself is hiding himself in it, and because nowadays the wise donkeys are laughed at just as much as the fools in Hamlet, because among the vile and inferior moles only the the blind tunnel that serves as an escape is the only worthy one that can still merit the possible alternative truths of the proofs.

Why are the more important explanations behind things barely decipherable?! In mass communication, which has begun to atrophy, someone always makes mistakes for selfish, greedy, manipulative reasons, symbolic intentions, without exception. Pimples and padlocks on the corners of the lips were handcuffed by one stray word of truth, while there are more and more brainless roots in the crowded parking lots of supermarkets and plazas. Skilled people give and take not only *** portraits, but even human lives. The rye-marred, raven-fateful autumn season also labors with deliberate obscurity, when the ever-increasing number of witnesses and watchers are barely able to light the world.

If he has already crossed the Threshold of Being in such a way that the human-smelling, Calvary-soul cannot tolerate determined or revenge-thirsty anger; at most, only the eternally creative and renewing intellect could start new actions and things deemed capable of development. Once again, unforeseeable events had to happen, if at all one wants to come to one's senses.

Now just think about that little boy who was sad and anxious to the core, who kept crying, and then there is no need for false words, curvy mirrors, another Janus face, another mask that covers everything. If something binds you, chains you to life, to the world - break, destroy the obstacles that bind your existence with the defiance of a lion and the courage of a swaggering pepper.

If you can no longer be free, because forced happiness, an arranged marriage forces you into rage, even then DON'T GIVE UP! Just think now of the millions of treasures of unbridled memories beating inside you, and then there will be no need for unnecessary words. Then there will be a face from the present, a mask on it, and also a third person who is taking shape, who can now manipulate the explained, convoluted lies at any time.

Then your once innocent, naked face—your soul—will be less visible. Then the brainwashed, deliberately blunted, dumbed-down reality is worth nothing more than a renewed, falsified consciousness based on an already unprofitable formula.

In fact! You don't need them, because flattering words and sweet-sounding promises are completely unnecessary for you. Your vanity is a murderous, narcissistic desire. Everything is embodied in a mirror, ready to show you - your soul, not even like that - can guess or feel the chemically pure truth.

It is enough if you collect a single bright but honest teardrop that lasts until the grave and immediately knock on the door of Someone's heart one by one until you gain admission. "Your troubled past violently pulls you out of your life every day."

Your life - whether you like it or not - is an ominously lurking metaphor, or just a silently resounding rock song, which always needs Someone to fulfill the completed finitude within you!

You know very well: the breast of vulnerability fed you, and you soon realized that you are all alone in the face of the temptations of the confused, sneaky world. The inner boundaries of your personality - take good care of yourself - can collapse completely in a single careless moment. Thorns of stigma-pain flourish in you, while you have an incurable longing for the pitiful love you have stolen from others, which - as you yourself know - cannot be unconditional, let alone selfless.

You are constantly rather dissatisfied, while the weight of tons of years cries and wails over you. As a clinger, you tend to invent varied, deliberately colored lies for yourself, just so that you can escape and survive the next uncertain Tomorrows. The Universe - you once said yourself - has totally destroyed you, humiliated you to the ground, and even trampled you quite a few times, since you were never able to claim for yourself even the crumbs of the degraded, extinct human rights. The now permanent solitude connected with creative solitude has turned into desolation in your everyday life.

Your ever-doubting mind, eager to think, would constantly search for missed opportunities, but - as you know - there are fewer and fewer cultural value-saviors, who do their work not only for cheap interests and unnecessary, inflated fees - but for the sake of May the legacy of anonymous whistleblowers, deliberately hidden, be preserved in safe hands.

Even now, your hesitant movements and gestures are increasingly filled with unnameable expectations; your shared secrets - he is afraid - no one can protect them enough. There are harder, tougher days, when in reality you would rather get rid of yourself, but in every case the demanding Present pulls you back. There is someone sitting on the edge of your selfish, tyrannical torments and self-mutilation, pointing only at you!

I've been through this many times. I carried humility like an evil little garaboncia of resentment. The heavy shackles of despised destruction, secret promises-guarantees for better and happier tomorrows. Many left-behind eccentrics flocked to me, until eventually they too soon wore off and ran out.

He held an angel-scented flirt, a charm-grinning look, and if I had to, I showed: who, when and where can it fully prevail? I gave everyone - who hasn't told me yet - a chance for a second fresh start, so that this time they could get to know me better and really.

I put before them the trust of true friendships thought to be forgotten. – When suicidal, wandering thoughts began to take over, and there was no one to talk to or report to.

People with families have a million times more to do. And instead, they appointed more fluidly the official, legal, online connectors of friendships. Rather, they distributed the right to make false promises and links among themselves. "I've been through this many times."

In the neighborhood, a baby-child screamed in a nerve-wracking way, as if this was the only way to protest and argue with the existing Order. Connived and frivolous, sooner or later everyone gives in and even the gentle stars lie down from the high sky. Those who have had a secret assignment here and there cannot forget for a single minute that their existence as a cultural rescuer is more and nobler than even everyday challenges!