DECEIVED HAPPINESS

I have so many times played the happy contentment, playful, silent pretense, that I have become a liar-accomplice of myself. Now I could finally get out of the prison hells of forced robot actions and live a little. I look anxiously and anxiously, and I look at myself, and I ask aloud, what else is missing?! Where does the exhausted, floundering shortage go and where?

Is there anything missing in me or in the world of total absurdity?! Why don't you get a promising dream job or a poppy seed, a tiny allowance? - I am already so that everything tinsel has become bribed. It's a caressing, puffing old lie, and it's all about whether I fought for my dreams-because the deceived happiness can only be faked, felt!

And while in many forms I have performed sincere-true consolation for others , I have by necessity forgotten my own sins of lead weight, of concrete, and of the Golgotha of my selfish self-pity. For life as a superficial, cosmetic appearance, that's enough. The happiness of the persecuted, imbecile is known only to small people: the privileged to be bribed! Maybe it doesn't matter for a long time whether I'm running away or lurking beneath the surface of the vile rubble. The time of the merciless Executioner quickly overtook me and hum over my head like a swift waterfall.

They may still travel with me-if I ask them nicely - the main and supporting characters of my life, and although I have to shiver cold, my dear-it seems-is now a whole lifetime late! Sooner or later the dead can wear winter clothes and sweaters as atonement!