It started with small cracks,
Inconsistencies between the world we are talking about
And the world that really exists
In the long run only the useless is constant
One cannot enjoy the birds twitter in the vespertine coolness.
Not in a world like it used to be.
In the meantime the history has buried them under a thick layer.
No more morning without agonies.
No more evening without prison.
No midday without dire slaughter.
Life is a consecution of paradises one after another destroyed.
The sense of being clamped between birth and death escapes me.
So what do we do after the orgy?
Even penetration seems to be an endless regress.