Prolog

I don't know who I am and who I was.
A stranger in front of myself and new to me.
And old,
when I look in the mirror.

I believed,
that I was at home everywhere,
and was already homeless,
before I was fully there.

I don't want to be lonely and long for solitude,
as soon as I'm not alone.

I want to learn to learn.
And I hate my sleep,
because it steals time.
But I am so full of myself.
I am full of energized ideas and full of sadness.

I want to live and I want to die.
And I often do both.

I was curious about happiness and behold:
I hate the feeling of happiness.

I was in everything and wanted to be nowhere,
when I was in everything.

I love my sun and I hate her,
because I realize,
that I cannot escape her.

I love whores, thieves, and maybe even murderers,
because I love their fate,
if they have one.

And also the crazies,
as people call them.
They are like blind,
who have long been able to see.

Even all whores are above us,
because they have so much to endure.

I flee every day.
And when the night comes and stops,
the endless hours,
then I am so sick,
because it's not day.

I hate all children and yet I kneel down,
when I see one.

I search for myself and when I find myself,
I am my greatest enemy.

My own skin burns like fire and my blood is like an unpredictable animal.

I flee from myself and my life and hate myself,
who wants to destroy me.

But I ask for pain and a heavy life and for thoughts after the fever.

I want to suffer for every flower,
when it dies.
And want to be forever grateful,
when spring comes every year.
And want to wait for the strength,
after the pain.

Give me the strength to endure the in-between times,
without a scream and give me humility for the great lap.