she's begging for a photoshoot with the devil. lips curve; you're hanging off every word. disillusionment takes its toll on her pretty eyes, her pretty thighs, her pumping heart that won't give up. it's a craving for disaster, but they always liked her strewn across the floor. always quick to get a fix of charming wit. she's dressed in renegade and smells of expensive perfume laced with lust. when walking turns to running and running turns to regret; all that's left is a mad dash to escape the paradox she likes to call reality. what's to fake? orgasms & good taste? how about some restraint? another shot of vodka to take the edge off; dignity seems miles away. it's getting serious now. another fix; this time cashed out in naivety and missed opportunity. it's getting deeper now. we're all magnificent liars, anyways. one last dance before she breaks, in those jet black stiletto's used to tear through burning hearts. with a mouth like quicksand and a face like chloroform, it's best to shoot for second best..
she's been on a photoshoot with the devil. bruised & broken from the fistfight, she's strewn across the floor... just the way they like her.
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