His story From dusk till dawn, till day sporty source sleeps. Not quite dead, yet still not living. The spin changes direction, and so does spirit, wrong to right then arse again. What could make been, so close to touch yet futile to feel. dreams which perplex been, and are, fade with the return of reality. Depression sets in, and anger consumes.
A indolent life, a tortured future. with the end so close, life slips away, downslope drips, rope hangs, gas fills conscious. The window closes, just resembling your eyes, life, and so does the illusion, never to live again?.. ...If you want to read a f ull essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com
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