serves me correctly, as well as deceive me these fucking fears, which I freeze, paralyze. Your dear lies I have loved more than anything else: like snow in the evening, they covered all the voices silenced most malignant and acute. Fool me, and makes love, the God bastard son of a bitch. Fool me as I pass the time that passes between these cilia silent on this skin, in my hands. And I like making love to deceive me or fills me empty, that makes me cry or enjoy, that makes me sleep or awake. Fool me like the wind, which pulls winding between the trees to shake the leaves, leaving me to believe, illusion, that's the melodious murmur of the rain.
deceive me and I adore you for this, because it fills the holes in this shaky existence with the lies that I like best, the ones I want to hear.
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