Title: Необов'язково

Text: They keep triggering inside me. They harass my memory. I see them tall in their heaps, all mounted on top of each other. There is air like plastic, a horizon like setting glue. There are skies manufactured by people, punctured and leaking, and there are soft, coal-colored clouds, beating like black hearts. And then. There is death. Making his way through all of it. Кожен абзац буде тестом.

Save test: Використовуйте це, якщо ви хочете поділитися цим тестом на друкування (тільки для автентифікованих користувачів).