marie.pohl

It´s like learning how to swim and then losing power to get back to the beach, when you stay in the middle of the ocean. It´s like painting a wonderful picture with colourful chalk on the street and then observing how the rain takes all your art away. It´s like writing a damn pretty novel and just stopping after some words because of the losed sharpener. And in any kind it´s like staying with your friends and just seeing them in a vague veil, but also knowing mere extending your hand towards them, would dissolve this hideously weather around you. And everytime you try to help yourself, you walk on the street and smile to everybody and while no one smiles back you lose equilibrium and go down in the middle of the wide blue ocean. You know how to make yourself happy and you really like to be in a good mood or laugh about some nice jokes. But always you try to get out of the dark room you remember all the times before when you wanted to feel better. And everytime it was the same shit: Losing this litte power to stand up and cross the streets, to do anything. Since you always remeber that you end up in this cold and dark room between all the monsters. And some time you feel nothing and there are no more hopes and wishes apart from staying in bed and thinking about death. And in any kind everytime you go down again.