little russian heart


she had a red car for dessert, it was delicious, it drove like butter, it got her places. she had a motel room for dinner, it was home, it got her money from strangers, it was rare. she had suicide for lunch, he broke her little russian heart, he gave her promises with alcohol, she was pregnant when they found her body. six months along, she had people talking about her like she didn’t matter, like him. he passed around her life a condom a dead bird splattered. she had no family a job dancing a pack of smokes a ton of cash from swallowing. she was a princess a doormat she loved life but hated breathing

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