I’m afraid of people’s hopes
because they weigh on me like lead walls
they cut me off from reality ----
faith, hope, and longing
the three monsters in the wardrobe
but it doesn’t matter anyway
this too, is just a belief
what I think doesn’t count for much
I’m tired of my thoughts, of myself
of the noises from next door
and I’m afraid of intentions, of ambitions
I’m sick of those who feel they have a calling
and terrified of anyone who believes in anything
I fear them, because they’re capable of anything
because belief is blindness, the absence of inner morality
a kind of projection, a comfortable stance
people like that always end up looking for scapegoats
I’m frightened of our world
more and more people are starting to believe in bigger
and bigger lunacies again
I’m tired—bored, I feel I’m exhausted
sick of history repeating itself
afraid of people’s ignorance
worn out from writing about it
I’m even sick of this Thursday
I’m negative, pessimistic, and afraid
yet I’m not a coward
but that feeling—what could become of us
when they start wars again
when their money runs out, the oil runs out
when the madmen begin
pointing at scapegoats
the terrifying, blood-stained pages of our history
keep turning, turning
And similar things happen again
it will cover us with a brutal
faithless, hopeless reality
but... I am tired of this
as well
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