Spleen, abandoned mole depths

Now I know, and I feel more and more that I need to go alone; Inside, it trembles, like a tamed poplar leaf of the human soul, the voice of the happy-sad-sad spleen is trying to imitate the rogue ruts. He stumbles hesitantly, and then I have a hard time with the eternal child who knows not to change, because he would lose all his remaining magic power he once drew from tales and stories in the evening bedtime ...

I have to go alone; Unfortunately, I acknowledged and understood that my dear could not be accompanied by a worthy accompanying partner, shaking, shy, shy hands can only be surrounded by a haunting-oat, just like Dante's spirit. The chubby clown-arccom grimacing distorted laughter is more bitter crocodile-moving crying rather than real, unquestionable joy and happiness.

I go alone now, as there could hardly be a couple of sincere friends, a couple of nice words, which I definitely believe, and hours, minutes, months, decades are super-spokeless first and then deliberately empty; Many times I would like to believe that after forty, I will not be alone if the ghost is singing for minutes, and singing the severe pendulum clock ...

Now I go alone, whether the loneliness wanderer, or even a stubborn and an atonomic news story, who didn't intentionally want to listen to him because they thought only a half-peculiar, sucker, childish idiot. And while they thought that my loser could only be trendy, there were barely a few who saw the orphaned, trembling child in the depths of my soul!