Harker Jones
She last came to me one dusky autumn day.
And while I didn’t mind the wilted flowers, or the spilled champagne, or that she soiled her dress pleasuring herself on top of me, I did regret that she was crying when she rolled off my grave.
And while I didn’t mind the wilted flowers, or the spilled champagne, or that she soiled her dress pleasuring herself on top of me, I did regret that she was crying when she rolled off my grave.
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