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The solitude's torch
kindles with a tacit clumsiness, it's trembling flame smokes with perfidiousness between my numerous rebel thoughts, the night's sob cries in the slavery, in my distroyed imagination; the depressing and maddened silence rambles in my wild and deserted interior what is my life like without any pulse... my desire is intriguing, I want to escape this situation... nothing and nobody can help me... the minutes are running from the past towards the future, they reduce our existence... I try to drive away the thought that life is merely vanity but... I cannot.
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