Ridicule me.

     This new mind booze is intoxicating. I’m not asking much but midnight soliloquys are turning stale. The air is mute and heavy. Probably that great bolt of lightning will come tonight. I’ve been praying for it for as long as I can remember. Everybody has got their separate lives to manhandle. Detachment seems a nice resort. Come to think of it, whom will I run to? I wish there’s more to this than black and white stereotyped dream.

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