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Jul 2014
Kiss me with your razor blade tongue.
Let your lips press against my throat, for they are like knives.
Let your scissor hands slit my wrists.
They tell me your heart is made of gold but your soul is made of onyx.
Dance your fingertips across my skin in one's hope of love.
But darling, you could never love.
You're heartless.
Emily Archer
Written by
Emily Archer  20/F
(20/F)   
548
     ---, The Messiah Complex, --- and Md HUDA
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