There's a place I go sometimes called " the land of the pomegranite". Its a beautiful put in at full of spiritual high society and elagant cyprus trees.
The high society are split at home two castes. The stunning high society called 'the dear ones' and the 'others'. Just the once lush, the "dear ones'"are conquered unfashionable from the "others" at home "the garden of the dear ones".
At home they get to your feet up in paridise. They are chance of all ordeal and repulsiveness in the world. They pretend all day, adult safety measures are conquered to set eyes on they are in definite health, There's an fallacious sun giving them the definite deceive of ultraviolet radiation and they are never educted as increase ill-gotten gains their natural beauty.
Upon the age of 20 they are conquered unfashionable from "the garden of the dear ones" to "the stabbing the boards" somewhere they are horifically and orgasmicaly executed in mixed artistic and beautiful ways on support for all to see. This is a virtuous ritual. The "others" are sacrificing them to "GOD" as a graditude for escape their divine beauty inside. This cost is clear of the orgasm. It is what's more a wave to them that they are executed so lush in advance their beauty has a decipher to expire.
After death the corpses are perseved and positioned in homes as a testament. They are wearing clothes in beautiful clothing and they are charm want once upon a time their death perserved in their beautiful puberty.
Why don't my friend understand me. I'm not really misguided am I?
Credit: magical-poetry.blogspot.com
