[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 500px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; line-height: 15px; font-size: 9.5pt; font-family: arial"]Caught between life and death, your existence was created from a carefully crafted lie. The world you were born into was nothing more than an illusion, one you could escape only through the sweet release of death; however, here you stand as a mockery to everything you were meant to represent.
Some call themselves monsters, horrors, beings designed for damnation—what is it that you call yourself? As null a question as it may seem, it is one that haunts you. When people ask, what answer are you meant to provide? Your parents call you nothing, not as an insult, but as a means of fact. You are nothing, you mean nothing, you represent the nothingness of this world; some may find a void within that meaning, a desire to prove them wrong.
Some call themselves monsters, horrors, beings designed for damnation—what is it that you call yourself? As null a question as it may seem, it is one that haunts you. When people ask, what answer are you meant to provide? Your parents call you nothing, not as an insult, but as a means of fact. You are nothing, you mean nothing, you represent the nothingness of this world; some may find a void within that meaning, a desire to prove them wrong.
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「 DAMN SON, THESE BITCHES WANT SOME ; 」
[i]DAMN SON, THESE BITCHES WANT SOME
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