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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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433
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+324 часа
+177 дней
+3230 дней
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433
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.
433
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😭
