Destiny is not an option.
Faith follows nothing but itself.
Winter will last forever in the soul of a cold heart, reminiscent of an eventual inception, a determined venture.
Words mean nothing entangled malignantly within an emotional catacomb.
One can only hope for perfection, it will never be achieved. My hands and feet portray the human being I am. However it is in striving for this perfection, that life is lived. I will experience, I will enjoy, I will like, maybe love and I will mold myself into what I will become. The roads we walk cannot be seen in the distance, nor can they be walked besides to determine their worth. We are blindfolded, we have had every sense ripped from our g
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