The eternal conflicts with myself I bear, since decades a perpetual, ineluctable decay. I feel old; Forlornness became merely an impulse. Angst is the only thing that keeps me going on, though, I have little hope left for things to change. The only reason I still live is because I am too afraid to die.
What empathy was I forgot years ago. Looking back, it feels like the seduction of blindness. Please understand, that I can't trust in the hand I tried to pull out of furious loathing anymore, when it now strikes down on me. No, you can't argue that they are seduced by their leaders, they are what makes them some. Being welcomed by a mob carrying torches isn't exactly what I hoped for. Feeling the rain pattering on my face, again I know that there is no escape from opaque despotism.
I weightlessly float through the messy entrance of what they chose to be my new home. I have the urgent feeling I won't leave this place anymore.
No, I don't trust in humanity.
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