Stroked past with a harmless draft, a wrap of blended chestnut mixed with the ebony fire smelt before, my father once dropped a while to long, i take a leave and disappear,skyward on a hill a scratching shrub i ditch my ambience in.All my books torn through pages burnt like the fire of a phoenix,burnt and scratched by my bitten finger nails,thrown back once in the furnace.My only sweet joy ,beside the memory of their new smell.I lounge under Mr Willow ,corner in a little trip,reading of those people and dreams I'd never be in. I denied myself with books, began holding the pages,they were mine.For when I'm blue, when I'm joyful,for when i feel nothing in my life, I dug upon my beganing and forced piles of mud upon the end. its better to burn than to fade away. Somedays i found myself re-animated but.here,now,i am demolished,dismembered my start expedition and may spades on after my end. Oh my pages how they resemble the olive skin,my mother and father racing in the blaze, help help no helping here your silly niave daughter is hiding. you will never be loved you will never be helped, burning out waterous love, ever been so mad?, ever lived wth such fear,oh please im sorry parents not worth the world here. disvaqdemolthese where on
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