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Sardonic Broken AngelTo Marissa Ranello's previous piece     FlatlineTo Marissa Ranello's next piece

He hissed as he kissed 
my golden showered peach. 
Says: "I juss' luv yer gruntin' lips."
Mine curl with moans. 
The clock ticks... 
It's face has a face of its own. 
Oh yeah, I'm on my way! 
Myself? I play with 
Seldomly I ... 
Hey, who has time 
when time itself 
wears its own face? 
Then he stopped 
before he touched it. 
The core. 
The pit.