The Whore House. From the blue flacon he sprayed despondent Perfume of whores unfulfilled dreams. The morning sadness of sleeping women and sober men dressing to leave. The agony of their loneliness echoes from tear Dripping walls and down steps that reek of The poverty of the damned. Hours wasted here didn't still their hunger for love, only made it unattainable Blank faces in cold morning light. A new day?Birth sign: Scorpio
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