I’m watching you suck on your cigarette while you overturn your alcoholic dreams and overly-poetic fuckings -- famous people don’t get famous because they’re perfect, you know. And I’ll keep watching as the smoke rises out of your mouth like vomit leaving your body the wrong way out. I guess we could light a match together and get a rise out of inhaling it's livid sulfur and laugh about how bad our eyes burn. You look like a ghost to me now.
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