The unkempt curls. A sudden storm.
The eyes, a tad incomplete.
Crumbs of a smile, withered lipstick from last night.
The last life of a half-burnt cigarette.
I could never pen you in the pages of an inexpensive novel.
I would rather sculpt poetry...
The eyes, a tad incomplete.
Crumbs of a smile, withered lipstick from last night.
The last life of a half-burnt cigarette.
I could never pen you in the pages of an inexpensive novel.
I would rather sculpt poetry...
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