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" Black Sheep ne' er do well, loser, you're bound for Hell." Looked down upon misunderstood " She's at it again." " Up to no good." Despite these words, there grew a flower,
Ghosts linger in the crack between the door and its frame. Now, you should know that they’re hard to tame. Not every one of my demons is the same. It is madness; It is a cigarette I call badness.
Memories are a part of me, They drift apart from me. So many thoughts, just like my old matchbox cars, Simpler times---remember pogo sticks and toy guns,