smoking behind the mirrors of love, smoking the passion inside the flash turned to dust, over and over, it burns, it feeds, it burns the needs. burning the soul until there is nothing more than a pale memory of who you were
smoking behind the mirrors of love, smoking the passion inside the flash turned to dust, over and over, it burns, it feeds, it burns the needs.
ReplyDeleteburning the soul until there is nothing more than a pale memory of who you were