Remember the frigid december,
coldness, draught and damp.
She waited until september,
that tawdry promiscuous tramp.
Gone by day and on display,
street corners, pimps and thugs.
Burning ashes in a cigarette tray,
and abusing all sorts of drugs.
On the fill of each white pill,
ecstasy, shivers and pleasure.
My heart beats for her still,
she remains a buried treasure.
Part of me that wants...
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