A wound of a dead body and a large layout thence. Upon an arm, an asinine run out of thing, such thing he calls a knife of a thing. To that spouse out of which, living with him, and out of which, sharing a memoir, a giving of something precious to him. To the very resemblance of a thick thing when it’s a thing thick. Such that it’s his friend in the same room that has he killed. In lingering evil he betrays the linger of evil, too. Then something intrinsic tends to give in and happen. That which is the most important thing in here, he finds a story to be given, laid and be told. How come as such, runs of footlings, run on knives while they delve in and in. Runs a story scary and cold. In his tempt to attempt another failure of a heart, and a thing. Killer with a knife…. And thence, a story be told gone. And thence, he finds himself all alone in somewhat a cell of a heart and his hands do then grab the knife in his belt to stab out and black out a weak weakling thing, his own life.

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