I’m imprisoned, but I’m free in Illusion

I\'m imprisoned, but I\'m free.

I take, and always a voice comes in and says that to me.

In the past, from a time when I was giving or paying attention to myself, I learned to write to myself something, even if it was a small sentence, what I want to say to me, don be afraid to be sure of good, I waste … I don know what to say to myself, but sometimes I have to be selfish.

In the past, I was so attached to others, that it was like my life would prevail if no one was with me. I indeed learned to give up a lot of strangers and harmful parasites, although I never understood, even though I am locked in the shackles of attachment, still stuck in my mind the ugliness of the view as if I am watching hell,

Im still watching them from afar, but Im going to give them up even though Im connected to them, where I heard a strange but true saying, after all,

But I believed in one thing, which is .

And here I am, maam, hating myself for her wounds, stripped of the world and the warmest society, and I end up in silence.

I see silently speaking and no one hears me other than God and myself, I found the right choice not to deny, everything became self-evident and if I am hurt, oh in a night praying to God in the hollow of darkness I thank my Creator, my God, for my good friend the Creator in silence in a time, it is difficult to be alone it is like… Like, like, Im dying of life, right as a prisoner, but Im free.

I don know when these conflicts will end. Feeling…, I can describe it anymore when … The what… Time… When I look at the mirror and the tears that sink into my eyes with sadness, I do not see my face under a pile of darkness under this torment that no one but me sees, I wish them this torment, I wish them this loss, but I want to enjoy their screams of the intensity of the torment …

But for every pain of healing, but for every joy crying, why unhappiness is the longest for joy? Why less joy?Why less comfort? Why doesn time heal wounds, but forget about them?

And I gave myself the head in front of my little notebook, at dawn I write with tears of unhappiness a look from my eyes showing and explaining everything Ive been through, will this journey end or not? I do not know…

Im David Fariss or muhammad I don know if Im bad or sad all I know is selfish.

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