No hope left

With every ticking clock, the constricted space is shrinking. The holy, emaciated burden of our years grows weary, softening in the sediments of a much-weary body. Broken to pieces, the wounded heart circulates bitterly for its perceived and real sins - handshakes in loyal, reverent grasps of a message of forgiveness that is human precisely because it is universal. There is no pity for useless, slowed hands.

The big sand-time always cuts out the harmful intentions, the swampy, creeping marshland views stuck on the surface. In gloom eyes and instincts are sharpened. As one lost in the dark, and cannot easily find his way out. They lie on each other like snakeskins cast off: envy, hypocrisy, feigned anger - the trail of difficult escapes from the labyrinth of self-locked doors.

Perhaps there will always remain a cold love, a premature, lingering death-consciousness. Suicide, or nearly so, is devious, flattened in the moody of silence, which distant but uncertain future is already in every case a dark pit. Everything is now for money, and this spoils the hopeless romance, the immortal togetherness.

Torn winged, unbridled hope in every case cries out, cries out: 'why so many fruitful lives have turned to invisible destruction' - formless adoration of God now every second, like the only possible by-product of a backward love story. A silent plunge into disembodied space. Instead of the scream-phantasm of train tracks, tiny, spherical pills, or a revolver ball flirting with temples.

All who are forced to confine their solitude in introverted shells are condemned to soundless silence. Forgotten heartbeats can only be remembered by those who have felt the soul-scarring, gaping, hole-punching pain of loss and disappointment. The wounding of a frozen, hibernating heart becomes a curse of true pearls.

The disturbed, tachycardic nightmare of emotions sends a slapping wave-slap to those still alive!