I am the cold flame raging on mounds overgrown with clover, the shaker of your universe, I am not the girl of your dreams, I am the woman of your nightmares.
In the old days, slaves had their feet cut open and filled with horsehair, do you know why? and I know, I distinguish a red eagle from a red tulip with one cry, I love making pain and Russian classical literature.
Sweaty palms and worthless thoughts.