He had scratched all the gray walls of your choices, but his thoughts were still showing the agony of a suicide aura. The melancholy ran down in his sweat, defining his worst moments of a crossing through hell, where his sins were shown every breath of the devil. The flames left his horror show, and his courage was cowardly near his fears, transforming your sleepy state into madness of a disappointment. His unconsciousness took his vital signs throb in the sense of his only way. His trauma was reflected in the sins of his suicide, with lust at a high level, and his avarice poured around his body lying on the stairs. Each behavior exposed to the tragedies made by his own hands bloody from hysteria, hysteria of his death. The madness used in each of his sins, leaving his recipients all the horror that his scribbles meant.
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