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H.

He smoked himself out. Cigarette-soft fire devouring his mouth, putting out the stars in his eyes.

He’s all ruins. A wasteland in the hollows of his cheeks. The familiar thundering drawl snuffed out by a sad slur.

He kept his appointment with oblivion. And now, he’s a counterfeit million dollar man with skin the shade of fool’s gold.

pc: Only Lovers Left Alive

3 thoughts on “H.”

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