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Because whenever I am sad I write better, it can be a peculiar leadership, the flippant and sad that tied me, attracts me like a mosquito to a lamp, unleashed in me and in my writing some words taken from the depths of my dark, grim and gloomy chest, passing through the veins, bones and meat; I cannot control the inspiration, sometimes stays in silence, sometimes behaves like a wise girl and also sometimes makes fun of me, hides in its shell I noted from his own height where I’m not more than another thing, another whom he attacks and eats, another who always yells, spider, spit, insults, I would like to fly as shefly high, fly and fly, more and more high, until you can no more, until you can not breathe, until my insides burst, until my heart stops and die like her, in the sky.
By jhulle saba katz raynauld

On my world

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