Your Face is a Rape Scene
Page Ninety Nine
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That whisper, your lovely curling razor, mistakenly wound around my tongue to squeeze some fucking truth from that wicked obsession, your obsession, where I can pass by.
They do that when you're dead alive.
I could count stars, and you counted screams
so if you would please just hand me my ticket
I will go and join the ground.
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It was where I was in the first place.
