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Your ghost's hands playing in circles down my spine, whispering "I'm dancing on your grave this time." Cold words from cold lips & too much motion from such cold hips. This will be the end of me: a knot of sheets but we can't it sleep. So stab me w/ cold eyes & crush me in cold thighs so eager to please (but is it you or me?). Asbestos, there's no breath left. This time we stay dead. |