fascistprincess

Sarah drips with sobbing pouty eyes but still smiles with stretched braces gripping teeth when showing me holes beneath places, telling me proper things such as "you should do things." The wisps of hair are thin and lewd adorning rarely, and I see these things at the same height as the space above all the stiff buildings following her behind the window. It is warm in those spaces above those bricks, as is she, but it is freezing whispers in the space that I stand. That is my own problem and nota thing important; a trifle. I am hungry, so I eat. She is lying about something but I will always fuck her everywhere she lets me, and everywhere that fits.