FENT — Діскорд Сервер

THE BOY LOVES FENT LIKE FIRE LOVES OXYGEN HE MELTS INTO SIDEWALKS WITH A PATCH ON HIS ARM OR A LINE ON FOIL OR A DROP IN THE VEIN HE DOESNT CARE HOW IT COMES ONLY THAT IT DOES HIS PUPILS PIN NEEDLE THIN HIS BREATH A WHISPER SLOWER EACH TIME HE CHASES THE WARM CRUSH THAT HITS LIKE GOD THROUGH HIS BLOODSTREAM HE LOVES THE FALL THE NOD THE WAY TIME STRETCHES OUT LIKE GUM ON THE PAVEMENT HE DOESNT FEEL COLD OR HUNGER OR LOSS JUST THE WEIGHTLESS FLOAT THE SWEET STATIC OF NOTHING THE WORLD COULD BURN AND HE WOULD STILL BE DRIFTING EYES HALF CLOSED WHISPERING TO HIMSELF JUST A LITTLE MORE JUST ONE MORE HIT ONE MORE TASTE OF THE BLUE ANGEL AND THEN ILL SLEEP