There was an overpowering dam framing my mind. The gradual expansion of the dam made more and more intersections of crazy thoughts stretching to a dangerous edge. When lying in bed and having nothing to do, when seeing the white fl akes of paint falling or going to fall, I felt the nearness of death. An air of melancholy took the shape of a burial with a group of mourners. It sucked, and sucked the hope out of me. Somewhere beyond the horizon, a suicidal lighthouse seemed to signal me to move to press the red button. Then a haunting face of Van Gogh with white bandages on his ear appeared with a sunfl ower blossoming on his other ear. There was a great deal of fierce compassion and passion in his eyes. No, he seemed to show me more than that. His fi erceness seemed to swallow my cowardice in a fl ash of lightning.
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