Sinvocation

No one of them knew the truth. No one of those on the broken side of the world.

I'm staring into the luminous eyes of the city I'm thrown to. The inevitable thing to become a part of this voyeuristic society, gazing outside of their holes and trying to live the life of someone next window. I am a part of their prime time show.

You sit next to me, drawing an inverted cross on my hand. It makes me laugh deep inside, that's ludicrous. You, who always call me satanist, yourself are creating this image for me. Aren't you trying to become another prophet for me?.. These existing prophets... No one of them could stand one simple question I asked them; they all broke down: "Do you yourself believe in the truth you've spoken?"

You told me that my eyes reflect deep form of lunacy. Well, from you it sounds like an unreserved compliment. I'd prefer lunacy rather than this perverted voyeurism that is counted to be sane.

They are closing their doors for you, but they always keep their windows open - because what their life would be without the opposite side of glass?

Don't try to be my prophet. Because then you will also be dissolved in my merciless question.