MOVABLE SHELLS

Only the color and, at most, the shell, if you can see it. In the seed house, black-brown seeds are crushed and dried in meek. An alien outsider appears to be a wanderer, at the same time confiding in me, otherwise deceitfully luring me in.

Its treacherous stratification is enhanced by a regrown thick layer; it escapes from your muddy hands. The meaning of existence is bound to be constrained and interpreted; it casts seductive shadows before you.

When the nasty moment comes, you can see him fooling and fooling his fellows clinging to the branches of trees: perhaps this is how people fool each other, use each other. With black lead weights, the verdict drags towards everyone, just like the executioner. At the frozen, silent bottom of slimy dreams, everyone can already guess that the proud present deservedly dreamed is just a lie that began to intrigue!

The innocent gaze, like alluvial sludge, is struck by the fact that the flesh of Juicy, Southern fruits has been snubbed by voracious worms. And that the deservedly over-praised exotic eyes merely pretended to play both flirting and deliberately orphaned truer love.

Despised, despised revenge shines in the eyes, that they have led, deliberately betrayed the emotion of the immortal Universe.

When did the faithful, truth-telling Mirror of eyes become a vicious traitor?! This now greedy, useless World reproduces its victims Daily. And while inside the seed House the seed can feel comfortable in comfort-the vast outside world tramples it daily, take advantage of its defenseless remaining twitchable puppets!