Shame has overwhelmed me,
like a mucous film between
me and reality.

Feelings came to the light,
eight years old, and now dead...
long ago on our way, we helped each other...
kindness was then massing, quasi in stack.

We were broken like old bones,
though we were packed with youngness:
life was the aim, one common, eternal and pleasant,
but one rupture has sealed and other ones just deepened.

An era has ended,
there was no windup.
Light had escaped our mutual darkness.
We were also guileful,
one coward, the other deceitful,
but some moments still stab me in the heart, once in a while.

As I've become a new man,
someone else brought me further ahead,
we found the common ground
and the bliss-spark growing into a blazing light.

Yet, sometimes on my neck, it's sitting...
the mucous shame is sardonically laughing at me.

The third eye in the middle of the forehead,
through its non-physical essence,
is capable of pushing the mind of the man
into the deepest oceans, time and time again...
those unexperienced may get lost in the void,
but the proficient minds step on the field of eternal thrills.
Or look in the eyes of pain.

Falling in the deep, air-bubbles surround you,
and then your body accepts
what is like the water and the wind, at the same time:
you are floating in it, as it is descending,
but upwards, the material is 'unswimmable'.

I was soothed by silent in the dark,
while a flock of tetrahedra were floating
in front of me, without their leader. The ronins.
Tetrahedron, a consistent construction...
flexible at the same time:
the bodies can fit into each other, so they combine.

Their form was constantly evolving,
finally it became a slender-shaped body.
Stretching like the horizon at eventide.
Vigorously vibrating, it switched from white
to the colour of Aether and then I realized
that this shape, this massive thread...
is the horizon of future itself, the beginning
of the life,
the Atom that is eternal and is collapsing
into itself (a trap!).

I touched it. Its resonance awoke me at once.
The same nightmare torments me every night, ever since then.
Hunger and strength have left me, all hope is gone.
My infected third eye devoureth me;
... hence, I cannot do else, but to let it be.

I touched the string and it screamed.
The future depicted a bleak, hideous image.
Of me.
My hands dissolved, my blood leaked away as crude oil,
the whole of my body stiffened
and helplessly, I fell out of the physical expanse.

The picture of an exciting, vibrating darkness
is gliding by me in every moment;
every bit of me is screaming against this,
it makes the air painful,
all my cells are in pain, everything I hear,
and the void pains me; it is stressing me, just like a bind.

The words - of the future - pain me, as I know they are true.
It is painful to know that everything is inconsequential.

My journey has now started for ten thousandth time
on the curly escalators of the bored, grey world,
as they are horizontally travelling together with me
into the silent void called: present.

The struggles of millions of motors beneath my feet,
serving the same lords for centuries.
The world is perilous, provided it is capable of more
as it already is.

The depressing buzz of the corridors
are settled on the convolutions of my brain,
as if it wanted to move, to tip my body
out of the deranged moments of routine by telepathy.
Maybe I'm just imagining things. Would it work?

Pause. Error. Stop. It stands before me.
A being. Builder. From silicium.
Face? No expression. Cannot be otherwise.
Mine either. Stressed. Not only me.
Four hours. Painful legs. Growling stomach.
The perfect order must not be interrupted.

After the compulsory rounds,
the world-aiding silicium-based being
returns beyond the wall and it is most certain
that is shall not to return anymore.
Unless it wants to. It may do so. But there is a price.
We are no different. I could do so too.

Is there a price? I'll do it.

Under every pretty face and shell
a rotting soul and heart dwells.
That is how the gods created it:
deception is all human’s aim.
Nothing is honest, everything is eventual,
promoting the eternity falsely, deceitful.
Whirling unknown imprisons thee
if you meet their world, it is so bleak.
Get too close and it shall never let you go,
like a spider-web made of steel, surrounds you,
impregnated with malevolence,
galvanized with dark matter of unfaithfulness.

Spares neither living, nor lifeless ones:
if its interests deems so, on their dead human fellas
they cast the ’magical words’
like the victim could still protect
– its very existence –
its very self
against their ***** savagery,
against the atrocious and selfish statements.
And like the word, so the act:
he thrusts the blade of his tongue into others’ necks,
like his steel shepherd’s axe,
into the torso of both nature and that of the „non-breathers”.
Acts like a god. Creates distorted beasts
by violating the laws of the world. No care about its own fate.
Living day by day, why care for such thing?
He will, after all, wither away himself,
and his predecessor cannot question him, then:
’why did you cut all the branches below me’?
All I can say is: ’I shall follow the traces of thee’.