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Her, eyes of gold darting to the faces she would be seeing only once lives in a madhouse with the crown of ruler set upon her head, even the summer heat can't stand to dampen the icy jewels adorning her body and soul.
Her, she becomes sin an arousing drop of hell disguise of an avenging angel but her cloak of doom bellows behind her, shoes of a bloody mess ankle deep in finesse.
Her, the traffic lights blink red at her sight as though four wheels can kill a still dead person like a shiny sculpture in the midst of spotlight- just as solid and just as cold.
Her, lucifer's apprentice taking over the fiery pits in her striding wake, the smell of a tempting fall from grace the poison mixed with the chase a crooked curve of lips drawing innocence in.
Her, she is the sin, the sun, the madness, the moon, and the death, the earth.
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