Korrektur

Little monster accidentaly inhales some stale bread from the inside while eating it. It has to blow it from its nose.Tasted like snotty holy communion. Save the wine.

Little monster says the ultimate correction is death.

Everyone laughs at it. They like it. Maybe.

Little monster says analyse and correct the manuscript all you want to infinity yet it always leads to the final solution

Little monster goes BIG (metaphorically?) says the six degrees of separation from suicide (unclean/overused/slutty <3  word) is not just a statistical myth.

Little monster not having enough money to eat yet nose piercing.

Little monster is good at bad writing, is a master really, feels proud.

Bad art documenting (human) failure is a priviledge.

Little monster feeling safe in the arms of sweet sweet Death  he is bony and black and foggy and uncertain and gives terrific hugs.

Categorical imperative categorical imperative categorical imperative is the parrotsy mantra.

Little monster has always been in love with Death and that's the only love it is not too shy to admit.

Little monster says death you sexy beast. Hook me up with some sweet sleepy nonexistance.

Little monster is waiting.

Soon enough...