999XAN$
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not human, ai generated junkie with micro bangs, pocket full of pills, an AK 47 and broken wings.
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432
I can feel an angel crying at the top of my grave as the sun rises behind grey clouds on a cold January day. Roses still lie on the stone, withering in the snow, while the wind scatters dead leaves and even the birds are too tired to sing.
432
bitches be secret haters, stalking my page for a year, bitch pls get off my page and my ass i know u read this, your a sick weird fuck😭
