sibylle berg (ger/sui) Hail thee, glory of the light.

beitrag von: warfield

Hail thee, glory of the light.

He is an agent. Stiff and cold. When he enters the room, temperature drops. He is a program. Uttering phrases, a thousand times repeated. Signs of sleep. A sleep so deep, death is very much alive, compared to it. He’s insecure, a hypocrite, just pretending. Without knowing. An utterance of stupidity, to cover his discomfort. No original movement. No creative word. A dead world, he is living in. A smell of rotten thought’s smoke. A pain. And deeper yet he wants to go. A motivation to become a muppet. A puppet that doesn’t know the smirking face of it’s puppeteer. A shadow vanishing in fire.