Sunday, 1 November 2015


Sequins and cigarette smoke and the curl of your hair. Writhing around with another girl in a chair. And we stood in the stillness of the night yet again, the heavy breath and the slight adjustment of chins. We were strapped together with a physical rope, which I used merely as a prop to continue the joke, so that no one would ever possibly think, that I'd ended up here again covered in your stink.

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