Tract*
the stage, the cage lick your finger turn the page her touch is sharp despite her age and even now with water red even now with nothing said my dear, you’re all the rage. the chair, the flare dim the blinds and kill the glare I’m leaving now I am, I swear I hope you die full of regret I hope you drown in your own sweat with not a soul to care. Written January 2nd, 2002 © on Jan 01 2002 05:32 PM PST 10 • 0
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"the stage, the cage..."