How To Get Puffle Without Be A Member

La realtà è in difetto

The reality is at fault, because formal notice of itself, not admitting the possibility of something parallel, in fact, true, is not parallel.

Nights when you close your eyes to sleep and hear the laughter of triumph and derision mixed with complaints and requests to the deaf.

What once was, what it is yet.

I let go a little disrespectful that part of me, I let it cibassero, that they felt completely helpless or better, beating his own.

To dress up a form and discover how easy it is to have it fit like a glove, but because, at the end, it is inconvenient, as scratches with reality and lead in its almost easy steps to stumble.

And look in the mirror and smile for strength, while the mirror you look disrespectful and it tells you that you suck, you're not a bad copy of what you were, that it is useless to find excuses or holds that Oren is gone is gone,

when you are fully aware that the name you gave to your dualism is part of the same person.

And the scratches you have on the face and hands, I recall every moment and are not mocking laughter of his victory, but to believe in you, to those complaining about your missing, your fucking grin bastard, being almost disgusting in ostentatious security, to hate her spontaneity.

And when you try to recover without the conviction to do so, the result is bad, it only gets a different mask that does not remove the stain that the makeup of the first, certainly worse than to replace it with another, apparently insignificant and devoid of truth.

is not no use in hiding your black, why do not you conceal them, if not in the dark to block the view of the farce of bankruptcy, the unwillingness to admit it.

And then you decide you must do it with conviction and, in no uncertain terms and at that moment the last nail that penetrates into your skin than that reality is not allowed, andnot wakes you open your eyes to the amazement is happening, why you're fully aware di cosa è stato e di cosa è.

E ti rendi conto di essere arrivato fin qua ,distruggendo ciò che avevi di caro,

frantumando ciò che di prezioso ti era stato donato

e di cui dovevi avere custodia e le lacrime nascoste della tua vergogna macchiano il tutto , senza lavare via niente, accorgendoti che ciò che avevi inciso sulla sua pelle sei riuscito a distruggerlo e che non serve a nulla cercare di distribuire le colpe,perchè è solo la tua.

E mentre le mie labbra si allargano in un rigenerato ghigno strafottente,sento l'attrazione della mia anima, il bisogno di riscattarla, di riaverla,stringendo tra le mani quella che ho frantumato,affinche i cocci incidano i palmi delle mie mani e ne esca il sangue che mi rivive.

E rivedo i contorni di quella porta sulla parete,che mi seguono ovunque,i lamenti si assordano,le risate si alzano ancor più vittoriose.

Là dove il bene giudica che sta il male,

voglio fare il mio trono e invertire il giudizio,

che sia il male che giudichi il bene,

cosa cambia?

Entro ed esco da dove voglio.

Ancora ...

Si sa ,sono vendicativo.

Aspiro a diventare Diavolo.