Everything he did. Everything he planed was baned by a particular painful situation. He was not sick nor healthy, but he knew that he had such a past, an immense vast ocean overwhelming underneath his feet. He knew also that each he openned the door, he had to struggle against something maybe he couldn't contain later. Two weeks under his mom breast took him to a depresive almost eternal nightmare.
There was no sun, nor moon, neither day nor night, a glummy smell behind the stomaches, empty stomaches of lifes. Comtinual disparity over those, the less classed of the population. They believe there is no other way around and all are experiencing metastasis, forcedly metastasis. They shall be wrong, they might be confused, and all are melting mouths, pleading peace. Asking for what they had not given, and the she said - something that was not given back- and his mouth closed.

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