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I was born on a pile of drums
that was making noises all around my dreams. I was born under a magic tree that was full of apples and pears and berries that was giving nursery to my famine at least. I was disbanded and torn apart by a herd of predators when I was still young; too young to understand, too childish to react. I was lost, I was frightened, and I was abused without a hope of mercy or peace or truth. I was what I was. I am what I am. I will be sunshine that opens its way through the darkness. I will be a fresh stream that appears and ignites and let be. I was the last one that is dead. I am the new one that’s alive. I will be the renaissance of myself: a golden bright that arises in the smog.
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