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A opening of dawn, in the scent of the smell and the fear of my exciting beginning, as I simply show you many tastes of it in where I am randomly unfolding it onto the tastes of the tongue, I welcome you just to a taste of my talents, only since this does becomes to uncurtain itself as my first excerpt, Destined.


The oceans' blank-sitting-still stare is just my moment of attempting to pour out pain from what came from behind me in this home before it swallowed me for good. This home of Vile awakenings, in the mist when dark came, when I would have my nightmares again. When I would hear the train every night, the same time. When I had to look into the mirror and hope not to see any horrors humor way of making me see it when I looked. I wasn't too tolerant with being fucked around the way victims did in ordinary horror films. This reality of never knowing if it would come was real enough and was enough to deal with already. A doorbell here and there were always my point of opportunity to get away. So I welcomed anyone, everyone. Other times I would end up back here staring at this peaceful jealousy written ocean wondering about at times the craziest ideas and out of them all, one was, if id commited suicide in this ocean, I know it couldn't be considered true suicide. It's too peaceful, too distant, too untroubled. This night wasn't as awful as the others mysteriously. Began to wonder if the ocean did have some kind of side effects to rub off on me after all. So I tried it again, the second night was more awful than all of them put together. Then I think, what was it that made that nightmare back off? So I spent most of the day back here at the ocean and thought of everything I was thinking about until I pauses on the suicidal thoughts and felt a breeze push that even made the ocean finally a little troubled. So I went with suicide as the final answer. Going to sleep that night couldn't have been better. Began answering phone calls again, drinking tea again and even begin laughing again until my visitors began to say I'm changing again. Once it only made me think and tried to put it off, all of it, but it only made the nightmares come back. So this time I tell her, it chose me, I didn't choose it, and that now the ocean is jelous of me.


Just to consult to you my reasons for beinghere, on this falling wake to writing a darling writhering horror. A parlor of bright but oblivious dolls falling against the ground, scarring what's been sent to be broke by the sudden fall of the bloody rain to follow like a sudden bad timing for calling your daughter in to amaze her of the incredible amounts of barbies, however, and perhaps even whatever way I choose to style my wording to my upcoming fans to come, I just want you to remember why I suddenly take a turn to write this way at the age of 19. I want you to remember the late but brilliant quality that resolute and will shoot you to what should only progress in a way to make you content. This here is only a taste, call it a recipe before the fruitful opening if you may. But this does happen to be my first excerpt and written-work attempt anyhow, isn't it?