The paper and the pen. The things which pretend. To be an element thing and a thing. Things of wonder be in here. There, might you get an elapse of time shutters like seconds, minutes and hours. They, see, leave a brain hurt like churned. Out of vocals, I’ll run today global. To say I’m awful. Lot of things in a lot kept closed, locked upon and never after opened. Where in deep heart I run thus smote local out of space, an Earth. Till this day, I seen many sights to see till this day, and onwards. But to say that my boredom snapped out a little, can’t I say a thing false, wrong and to me, it’s awful. Can I breathe a wing of a light bird into the open sky. Only though, I wish I can. Satanic busts of a heart leap like wavy they are. Till they bust on another, a reach of an arm and my hand. To take a closer look at man in defiance an order of disobeying. Things thence matter and do be. If only I can now bow another arm, the left one, to the ground to take a colossal thing like a knife. To reach it from there to thereby, an incident and a why. Did I reach it to my head. Am I, suicidal. Tendency to break in and then creep in, and it does so. Though, I left random thoughts on a paper. Randomly, I wasn’t meaning a thing in here said. Empty threats of a wry of a brain from mankind. Or is he from mankind. I’m going nuts over nothing but a jot. And to conclude it like thus; I have fainted upon the days of pen jotting inks to papers, so as to die in my head paper of lines, then I must have attempted suicide. For why though ? Awfully wrong… peace.

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