My life is a wasteland ghost town, and all of you are its inhabitants. Not a day goes by that somebody's ghost drifts past, in a puff of stale cigarette smoke, in a noise from the tv, from the stagnant wrappers of food that once smelled good, in the biting cold air. When all those thoughts come to a peak, and fester and heat, my head and my heart
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Comments 1
damn sofia. i know what you mean when you say that, you just put it into words.
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