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just once i’d like to kiss a nice boy,one who still smiles and looks at stars.but i keep attracting those guys with guitars, assault charges and drumstickswho push cigarettes and needles into their skin. they like to burn but I guess so do i.
reach me the razor, babymy heart’s racingmaybe i could sort it outover camomile and poetry?
this beading bloodsays only two things:i’m sorryand i’m hurting