bastards I have moved all over again. Last night I turned off the light, it must have been two. I checked, there was the pen on the bedside table, bedside table, the bed was enough for me to reach out, I tried, I reached, there was. Then, when I woke, it was early morning, still dark outside, I quickly realized that they were here. Han made a mess, as usual. The bed, for starters, the bed they did it too high. The bedside table, then, where now it's too far away, and the pen over there, I know, we have put it on purpose, because then I can not take it. They are afraid to write the shit, let us know all, the police, the brigade, the fire department, because they are assholes, fuck them and that the theater that they put up. They come at night, I change things, I move the furniture, and after they leave the room is no longer that. For some 'time I will not even look like me more, I wake up, my hands are too big, I wake up and my hands are too small, the head is normal today, but yesterday I am yesterday I looked in the mirror I looked like that cartoon character, the one with the alien in the head. Prosthesis. They do not know what to invent, but they look, they look cute, I do not sleep anymore.
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