I love this city of angels

She reeks of perfume- her own special blend of piss and gunshot wounds.

How she turns her nose up and spits in your face.

She wears her patchwork scarf until the tips tatter and the seams unravel.

Her insides are burnt black, her lungs sputter and hack

yet her wit never fails. 

She's a hellish labyrinth, take a wrong turn and become part of her stench.


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