Sunday 8 October 2006 photo 1/1
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its three eighteen, mouth tastes like the corpse of every pregnant teen. the minutes are hours the hours are days. i feel infected by your presence, you speak in tounges. i smell the lies dancing on your blackened lungs. i whispered in her ear: 'fear me dear, for i am death. ill take your hope. your dreams. your love. till there's nothing left.' ren jävla kärlek
Annons
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giveuptheghost
Sun 8 Oct 2006 14:15
men jag kan ju inte! =( har apselut inte råd. men du anar inte hur ont det gör i min själ!
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