DIGGAG WARNING

 Keep moving back, carefully, until the fourth X is besieging. Inwardly drawn into myself, deliberately kept out of the circles, for Man is once again a despicable b*****d, and can hardly be trusted. Bypass everything we periodic, final. Ghost-dreams of the living. On the table there was a half kilo of bread, like bodag, which was given to sailors for fasting. Eggs are not enough for scrambled eggs. 

The smell of fried french toast moves between my nose hair. There's no-brainer, no-brainer, no-brainer out there. My wounded heart is slowly beating out another heart attack, my lungs are breathing like a pump; the rescuer is more than forty minutes late before the oxygen supply immediately stops! They may say holiness over my head! My grimacing smile is rather snarling, like the Restless Wolf-pit, standing still, vile-practiced on everyone, for this is what remains. Misery is not a dream these days-but it is becoming more tangible.

 Long live the beautiful preyed childhood! Each handshake is disgustingly muddy, sticky, like glue, or a darkening mass-discharge bordering the bile. And the unexpected awakens to see how deceitful, creeping, and vulnerable he is...