I very much feel sorry for the tearful ******, who gave her martyrdom as a gift to someone she loved best: and the soul of her fragile, blessed heart dreaded a thousand ominous horrors, even fire, though she had learned early on: Deception, rejection, and suffering. Outside, a charming smile was hidden on the fit child's face, - I guessed the swirling dying of tears then - in his star-cherished, proud eyes, the cosmos emptiness conceived because of his sorrows!

Selfless, angelic goodness was his most miraculous antidote, and while comforting others with a vulnerable mood perhaps, he always seemed to comfort himself a little, and the self-forgotten, heavenly smile: It was a nuclear explosion of stars than when planets more valuable because of irresponsible recklessness!

And now he was unstoppable, in order of war, he also marched against the tide of bullets of our tears, and every single whistling, hissing sigh wounded his ashes, hollow face. "I was very sorry for the tearful ******;" my bleeding heart sunk into lethargy that I had to see through the veil of cleansing tears, his broken desires and dreams!

But I would have comforted the poor then and there! I would have kissed the queen eggs of her feet even more — the blood was only gradually throbbing like a volcanic eruption! We would have comforted each other with a love of selflessness: You and Me!
"But the traces of the lost, happier times also died with the curse of a secret and quiet monotony: And only your constellation shines on me from a distance of billions of years of loneliness holes, up there in the vast space of the empty mourning sky!"

Peninsula Icarus
  
    
  We consciously strive for the elusive insecure with doubt and hesitation: We cannot know the confidential boundaries or the end of our destiny paths destined for us - yet we are lurking towards the unknowable Tomorrow! The shackles of trampling and tangles are binding, holding back: We cannot give to the Fear that is his! Our durable, sure humanity!

His instinctive action of “could have been tried” is still relevant and justified. Conscious self-pity that we respect our own cowardice with selfishly vulnerable tears - it is feared that it is seldom enough today! How would I be worthy of merciful and giving pity? Then the kind voice of our hearts will be spoken for us. Each question to consider generates and grows new decisions: Being rolls dumpling-shaped pitfalls, while common sense is in place of purpose and will!

I’m just a wounded emptiness sometimes, maybe just worth trampling on. I should map out good intent values ​​on my own. When the day is over and the brain is still clicking and something in the heart is shaking! The iron cat of pity is sometimes thrown at me and, as an excess, a single piece of life jackets, and like the surging-loving sea, I often share the fate of uncertain, swaying, drifting shipwrecks!

Love gives wings to many! As a half-nailed Icarus, even a careless moment was enough to look at the lava caves of the immortal universe.

Renewable mornings are like ***** killer, leaking through the soles of my soaked shoes, - in front of me I have to pay attention to split and split into two amoebaes the winter snow-covered, spruce-island: And yet I fell through a wide-eyed human sieve. In the mouths of many tiny crickets, sisere-arm, as the only outsider outside the camp, groping only the familiar unknown, I stop: Either I will be quite persecuted, or I will live to be reduced to a hunter myself! - This Century puts on those who daily produce with sweat beads the still existing Reality and the pleasure that has never been before

they knew - they leave it to those who get up at ten in the morning! People’s wallets are punctured and wounded by unfaithful self-abandonment: You can’t stay on the ground for some cheap garas after the possible tomorrow. Even with a terrible burden of responsibility, I am constantly grinding myself and dissecting the brainstorming of my brain: How to be captive to Tomorrow

earning bread if you have already shattered Hope got there? The only permanence against the tolerated World: Constant, self-marching, vibrating malaise! - Now a work that produces diligence and perseverance and a brain presence fills the mornings, and if the bed is rather a relaxing captivity short-circuited,

rather than constraint. Now you are still a biological cell, who would need a camp of life-giving molecules as soon as possible, but there may come an era in the found, dismembered Time, when Someone in loyalty clutches will look at you, and with your conscience - in the tunnel of secret telepathies

you become one with him! - Only the Thought can be honest and clear, because the mouth is already stuttering