A prostitute wrote my words

And in me many pain Many of the longing and many of the love and nostalgia for my old self to my freedom, which I myself bound to a false bond I hung his memories on the wall that collapsed on me in the last and left a heart surgeon is hard to forget. How often do we drive ourselves to ruin, wearing a veil of pride adorned with words of love and letters of happiness? The door of deceit is called the door of hope and we are from the abundance of our confidence and our naivete. We enter from that door to the world of destruction, to the world of grief, pain and sorrow, we throw our souls into the burning fire, and our bodies are torn from the sunrise to sunset. Tears alone are not enough and death is one thousand times. The wounded is the waste that burns in the heart everything with every blink of an eye and at every new dawn the mother renews and we shout and inside a lot of shouts if we bring out the walls of the house that lies on our secrets. Many of us are victims of false love of us who are the victims of human wolves and of us who followed her vow in a dream when she woke up and found herself losing the dearest she had. Every day we die every day We suffer and every day we kill the tongues of people and their malicious looks We will not insult them Because they have only corrupt street girls without honor But they do not know from behind this life damned we live Do not know that the pregnancy that lives among them and claims innocence is nothing but a wolf ruined the lives of many of us Such as honey and yarns so as to feed him all that she has with confidence, either to devour her flesh against her will and throw her to the street, the words of passersby and the stones of spectators will not understand her will not support her and will not only mercy her cursing and insults do not bear the ear no matter how patient the victim finds the street and her paddles mattress and thinking My past and what happened in the past, Anisa refuses to leave it. They endure more than they can endure the fate of what is written for them and when they want a life of pure life, honorable and chaste away from the living of the land away from the wolves of humans and fleeing from the past that is chasing them as the night flow on the daytime sky and cover them to remind them of what they missed and did not die. Sometimes it may comfort the heart of the weight of concern, but even death away from them as people move away whenever they saw. And ends the life of each one of us either the lover of a married man or a woman surrendered to the cruelty of time, or regret tears tear her eyes and write of her blood that story that changed her life