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Memoirs Of Death

God is the blood of life. I sleep in blood without security I am hungry and desire no one at all. Death is hell and i do not desire love. If love is to be desired than is it a desire that I wish to be loved. If not than when might I ask do I wish to desire love. What does the future hold and is there even real love. I cannot speak nor do I dare to express daily how I sincerely feel. For those that take of my words are those that have some need. Though there is no importance in my words. I will not desire anything that will expire and allow me to feel afire. I cannot trespass on that which not meant laid. My hands stained by love in the past.I have meaning but there is none, is there purpose. For what purpose do I have to breath.... I cannot wash the blood of the past from hands. Dare I not forget the lessons of yesterday. To seek the knowledge of tomorrow. Lest my mind be filled with sorrow. I cannot bear the pain or sorrow of my heart. There is no real love for me. Life is a play for which are no intermissions.
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