Blood In Stool More Condition_symptoms

(I will hand the story I have in mind and I get out of hand that is beautiful I have to think.
Minds roaring take on his hands gnawed my story)

My character tries to get out of bed and scream round, and suddenly something stops. I hold her hand. Someone has to mind the unfortunate.

- "Repeat this procedure until all say the name of that for whom silence our pillows" .- says one of the nurses.

(may be links useless to keep it tied to the bed, adjustable straps that prevent it from pulling force feeding, the serum that never ends to fill and that barely wets the ground of the veins)

- "And it seems that all sleep, but Silence! Let's listen! Everyone is naming ".- follows.
The nurse looks like a kindergarten teacher.

Sometimes you realize that all ended when (note) (feel) have to start over.
(but there are things that start before it's over)
Death plans, always turning, always close to that second where everything begins.

I look twisted and no, I do not understand how able to finish well.

"He spoke little, but with that little, he could convince the moon because it was made for Ludo Matic. After the towers disappeared into the dark to wait for a new renaissance in series, something that is full of wonders, or wait until you sleep the beasts, they tore that stuff, so like his soul. "
I leave
to squeeze my hand. Nothing memorable or exceptional leave my own emptiness. Nothing great, but knowing that the wind (also) came into my lungs.

"Theirs was like a dream, a mandala dismantling half stuck in the disguise of my writing, like an angel that in error would have to take human form to mourn for all that he has not lost but have not yet found. "

quotation marks, parentheses and italics always remind me that the smell hearts despite the distances.

The nurse is coming to us and says. Lacks only the Bible and spit.
- "A person who is able to throw his soul up knowing that it will not go through the roof is deliberately stupid."

He did.

(obviously his soul never went through the roof)

"soul fell several times dead (or without a scratch) on the ground.
It raised his soul several times live (or meaningless) to the ceiling.
And several times, as he threw and appointed, I profaned my ink in my mind his history of diamond. "

Or the roof or your soul, something I too solid. I could
hacérsela easier. But I did not.
(and some I regret)