a sNaiL wAlK

Substantia grisea inside that room, very clean and crisp sound of blood fall, dark swallowed the light with the help of closed windows. Enticed to fish a vicarious punishment to self. A dirty death was not familiar, but really floating inside my veins, like a message in a bottle, like a lonely morning star, like an unread love letter, like a wench at the park. Transparent pink body inside her belly changed her as a goddess. Little heart beats confused her accounts. She walked slowly like a snail carrying her expectations and tight doubts like her dress. It happened again in her bag, a murder in a wet room. Baby, little baby, beautiful pain want to push her out from its costly circles. Hold it once, kiss her once to kill the temper, she begged inside her to push her soul out from her small little space. Reminders were teared from her desk. Her shelves were cleaned up and washed away the dirty water. She have started to think to bury her purposes. The time has sold away the valuable reasons which she had never really liked to share with anyone. She is staring at life like a empty canvas which is waiting for a painter. Collecting habit of mind is not collecting the groovy needs. Obvious presence of facts were imprisoned by the unexpected spots. Details were erased by the professionals without any witness. There is little corrections in this, but she looked at it more than errors.

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