Livi Die

London -98
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Leather seats

Driving through streets I don’t recognize,
Sharp limbs, soft skin sticking to hot leather seats,
My own fire had just arrived,
Taking people home with me,
Collecting boys like pennies only to drop them from tops of building just because I can.
Blood pooling from split lips,
Friction burn against my spine,
Pain in a place you couldn’t see.
Smiling hard enough to ignore the purpling bruise.
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