PART 4
PART 4 The bloody monster was getting older and couldn’t even overpower the little being he demolished, and the only chess trick left was to throw Tom into the street. Sometimes we can’t lose faith because it was never there, primarily when happiness in your esprit will be a biblical miracle. Life under a bridge was a little freedom for his internal peace, but a lot could be said as feeding his stomach was his daily goal. “Winter is here,” said the cold air, if only he can mutata in firmamento solii then shifting places will be ideally. Covered with the snow he caught a cold, umpiring from his eyes freezing to death was the last wishing card. Little Tom couldn’t die yet, the whiskey in his blood was still boiling to keep the internal organs at heat. Like father like son they say, ones an alcoholic always an alcoholic. That is not the case, occasionally we lose the bigger picture. The terrors within crafting us to become the disastrous version of us. On the other hand, the gro...
