A personal exploration of squargon human identity, what is human, and why we ar human in simile form of an oppositewise inanimate object. Symbolism distinguish: Word                 Metaphor Pretzels         Human kind Oven         The world and smell story on earth Baker         God Fair struggle breadstuff         Youth Oven door         Life afterwards death Timer         End of life Heat         short-lived of time Blackening         Aging Group of Pretzels         Family Hard incrustation         Breaking an emotional shell Batch of Pretzels         Generations I good dealt bow out it any more(prenominal)!! This horniness is more than I can bear.... how can I hedge from this oven of life that sentences me to an inescapable doom beyond these iron w completelys? I can almost chance on their smacking, hungry lips waiting to sop up the savor from my soul. Not still my flavour will be left, only the odor on their breath, Only my memory. I dont remember my entry, when I was first conceived. In fact, I dont know any new(prenominal) pretzels, who have made such a claim. All I know is what Ive been told. Id akin to opine that I was lovingly lead at the hands of the bread maker who hand-placed every grain of salt upon my being. But the fact it, no one knows.
What if the rumors were true? That we were completely mass-produced, with some ultimate pattern from a baker removed, distant away, but who was utterly set-apart in our personal mental hospital? What if I truly was in effect(p) randomly spewed out by a factory work producing 400 others just comparable me per minute? Would I therefore still be particular(a)? There atomic number 18 all kinds of pretzels around me. Surely, as they say, no devil are exactly alike. Heh, I mean, no one is as delightful as me, right? I can suss out my watching now, watch my fair beat glisten in the... If you take to get a blanket(a) essay, order it on our website:
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