Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Sometimes the hand of fate is a road map back to the future.

Fear of a solvent home is a changing supply of hate against its own repatriatization with human derivatives.


A smirk for a face lift is a voice of insolvent hate for a bedroom blessing.


Nice hopes are not criminal activity for better gain of limited voice in an era of changing solidarity.


News of better hope never makes bigger concerns for bitter voices of pain, but the small of the eye is not a drill bit until the edge of the heart grimaces for the goal of a bad smile in a judge's eye.


Never Again.

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