His eyelids tremble in the dark, shocking. The sound of the lashes rub against each other is deafening. It is a "shru, shru" persistent crashes into concrete precedes the room, increasing by attacking.
Open your eyes tired. Itchy, itchy hard. They are like ants running through the body slowly, with passion. They get out there, here, cherish every minute with his legs and sharp, not leaving even a single pore without the terrible and uncomfortable situation. Why were not, why not let her sleep?
Look at his arm, trying to see them. The feeling, as always, will rise slowly, as if they grew up with the smell of perspiration, the taste of your muscles. And weigh more, it's as if you gain weight one kilo per second, digging more, more, more. The drill went!
Pica, pica, pica. Looking at the skin. Do not go, do not go! But you know they're there, feel them. Do not see them, but feel them hit, hits your skin. Let them die, but enough!
know where they come from, you know. Under your nails, the feeling going through there, tearing the skin and tearing it up. Ghastly! The pain makes her moan quietly, but fears that if you listen, grow Masy the hurt even worse.
And suddenly, when they carry her hair, knows where they came. ... The feeling is that, now. Know they are there, that this is their home and that if they go out .... Are ants, right? Go, go away.
Your veins are his ways, his flesh the earth, their bodies (how disgusting, how sad, how scary!) Hideouts. And his heart home. ---
had to update this so I started to write. I made two, but the other ... let's say in the middle of the story's inspiration killed a somewhat stupid ....
not convince me, but I think it's best to leave it there, aver if someone tells me why and how to improve it. Ro
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