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The inability to look forward. Narratives that keep us blind. Afflictions and every doubt. Labyrinths and narrow aisles carved in our own minds. Showing the same iniquities that keep us tied. The spiral drags us inside its endless womb. A voyage to the depths of the unconscious mind. A murmuring prayer into the void. The last words of everlasting sadness.
A sickness within our corrupted soul. A virus that corrodes our own resolve. And in our hearts, any sign of hope blooms. Like a silent garden without the sun. What seems to be the forthcoming wealth eluded us in a wink of an eye. Hope is a crime that we commit as a sort of craft. A venom provided by the healer to stop our cries. And now we see how disgusting the wait is. And how life runs out hastily. And now we see how grotesque hope is. And how the excuses become your own weakness. And now we see how grotesque the wait is. And how hope runs out hastily. And now we see how disgusting truth is. And how its meaning becomes less.

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from Monotony, released April 17, 2021

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π”Šπ”¬π”‘π”· 𝔒𝔳 π”šπ”žπ”― 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔑𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 Poland

πΊπ‘œπ‘‘π‘§ 𝑂𝑣 π‘Šπ‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘ƒπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘‘π‘’π‘π‘‘π‘–π‘œπ‘›π‘  𝑖𝑠 π‘Žπ‘› 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑑 π‘™π‘Žπ‘π‘’π‘™ π‘‘π‘’π‘‘π‘–π‘π‘Žπ‘‘π‘’π‘‘ π‘‘π‘œ 𝑒π‘₯π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘šπ‘’ π‘šπ‘’π‘ π‘–π‘ π‘“π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘š π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘‘π‘’π‘π‘‘β„Žπ‘  π‘œπ‘“ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘”π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘’π‘›π‘‘.

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If you like π”Šπ”¬π”‘π”· 𝔒𝔳 π”šπ”žπ”― 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔑𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰, you may also like: