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Texas is south

par The Devil Wears Prada

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Good evening, miss.
All I ever do is wish things were different.
This envy is destroying me,
and it is obvious.
I´m looking to put a bullet into the tile floor. Mark this.
I want to say something:
We were blessed, but now I wet my lips and wait for them to dry.
The lust of the dress.
The thought of her lips´ reverent smile.
These letters I´ve wrote are shackled to my chest.
Her tantalization.
She is misconception.
Good evening, miss
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