Phoenix, thank you a lot of your ideas. The idea about the space has not even crossed in my mind before you answered here.
I did get so much from your text.
Here is the original text which I promised to paste here:
Here I am, in the secret place of mine.
I am completely alone with my pain.
I am screaming and I am running
and at the same time I am standing still.
That’s the complex paradoxity of the human soul,
it never could be understood by the mind of man.
I am like the dust thrown to the air.
It’s almost shapeless cloud which is completely
in the mercy of the winds.
It lasts for not so long and when it’s gone
can not anyone remember its form.
If someone says: “I did know that man!”,
Isn’t he a liar, cause how could anyone see through the walls of foggy clouds?
He only could see my smiling mask, the cloud, and he thinks:
But inside where no one can watch: I am just crying.
And I run of my pain, I run from the sorrow that is
made for me. Maybe even made by me?
It’s following me everywhere, my worst pain is myself.
The pain is driving me to the insanity.
I am falling down to the deepest caves of the human
psyche. To the places where are not survivors
there are not friends, not saviours, nor even enemies.
The emptyness is everything around of me, it’s eating me alive.
For me this is not a game. This is my life.
And I don’t wanna be the pawn for this kind of a game.
I am a living thing, not a toy.
But I can not tell that to them,
I’ll try not to see
I’ll try to forget, but I can’t
cause I am made from all of those things.
And I am watching my own life from the perspective of
I do watch myself doing things on this huge playground like
I were someone else.
But even I can not see through my own cloud
and make sense to all of this.
If I can’t do it by myself, then who can?
That is my dust.
Its my pain,
here are my veins.