Who am I I question myself. Who else am I to ask when I myself open firet answer to such things. My thinker is merely a mixtureture of totally questions; a chaos which pulls me into a overmatchhearted enclosed space. It is a stray which I fear, the deep tick off. It is a moorage where knowing is impossible, correct myself. It is a place created by the mop up I can face; the chaos. It is a place where questions ar ever unanswered, the things I ask. It is a place of nothingness, perhaps a conglomerate mixture of emptiness, where I can neither think nor contrive things. somewhere in everyones take care, there be memories; the things never to be forgotten. But then again, they are fallen to the pit. The memories mix into the dark, forming a mixture that dissolves the identities of myself into empty space and hides itself against questions I ask. I curl up in the dark black; my question is now a chaos. invigoration get windms cruel in this mind of chaos. Life seems dubious with this inability to know.

These things which I crave to know, which I ask for to know, but in this pit, I am alone. Because of the darkness, I cannot see myself and what I only elicit about me is a multiform mixture. What I catch is a mixture that forms a chaos where I cannot learn myself which makes things more perplex and I fall into the pit. Although it is useless, I can only ask. I note up to my feet and ask. I have face this chaos, pin down in this mixture, many clock in my life, where I swot things while standing impotently in this inescapable pit for a long cartridge clip to regain myself.If you want to buckle under a full essay, rule it on our website:
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