With your arms around me,
I burn up like the fuel in a dollar-for-ten-pack Bic lighter when the childproof latch has been torn off by a frustrated smoker with the childproof mind that can’t grasp the simplicity of the situation he had before his hands got burned by the spewing orbs of flaming fluid that will no longer be contained by the plastic casing as it slowly melts away leaving a scar on the palm of its master that leaves him with only one solitary concentrated thought
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