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White lips, pale face, breathing in snowflakes.
Burnt lungs, sour taste.
Light’s gone, day’s ended, struggling to pay rent.
Long nights, strange men.
As they say, she’s in the class A team, stucking her daydream.
Being this way since eighteen, but lately
her face seems slowly, sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries, and they scream: the worst thing in live come free to us!
Cuz we’re just under the upperhand, go mad for a couple of grams
it’s too cold outside tonight.

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