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Parlous, is it? To allow your soul to be gripped by the vices of death. Vice grips handed down to you by Demons whom convinced your mind to think thoughts of doubt and destruction God foreshadowed through your recent decisions…

Yet, what other choice do we have but to trip and fall, learning all of which you shouldn’t do from those you’ve once felt disdain for? Why not work on my balance by keeping steady through a tunnel I’ve visualized to be my eternal escape from, Hell?

So, so many questions to ask the other aide of myself already exhausted from any kind of treachery. Darkness looming over my life because of promises of patience broken by each shot I was weak enough to take. Each bud I was angry enough to break…

Time and place for everything, in a world where only God knows when lunisolar skies are due to devour your horizons

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