LYRIC



Bliss pouted by my cheek in a dream about kissing isolation with a tear streak.

They collect in the recesses of those gaunt, starved, meek weakling cheeks that adorn her face like a lattice of thin lace.

A smile like a virgin birth. Purity that’s heaven sent. A scentless plume in her room. Death looms.

They collect in the recesses of those gaunt, starved, meek weakling cheeks that adorn her face like a lattice of thin lace.

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