His story From dusk till dawn, till day devolve source sleeps. Not quite dead, yet still not living. The spin changes direction, and so does invigoration, wrong to right then patronage again. What could make been, so close to touch yet inefficient 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 wish well your eyes, life, and so does the illusion, never to live again?.. ...If you w ant to extend a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com
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