jueves, 6 de septiembre de 2012

The A team



White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste

Light's gone, day's end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men

And they say she's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
but lately

Her face seems, slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us.

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