Mirth, rolling papers, Old tattered books that fall apart when you pick them up and every fiber of your being feels like this could be the one to change your life, your muse with a paper spine and a dust jacket.
babygirl, you nose is bleeding
your god wraps his hands around my throat in the mirror
he opens my mouth for me, tasting like vodka soaked shaking fits and rug burned knees. take me home, my teeth are chattering, oil and honey, honey and mud.
this isnt me, im not mechanical.
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