please abuse me with fists perfectly formed. bite off my tongue so i wont say a word (the anger dulls your beauty - the alcohol washes it completely away.)... a cantankerous cacophony of calamity. consume conscience but claim control. (and its only now i realize that i've overexposed myself)... i no longer believe in angels.
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If Thoughts Could Kill, We'd Both be Deader Than a Week-Old Corpse
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| Sadaharu |
