The florists are sad. Yesterday I was watching a window and saw only dead bodies in decomposition. After the genocide, the flower display the corpses in the process of putrefaction. Their only target was always finished in a rusty container from plastic containers and cockroaches.
vain solitude is a flower, so beautiful and dead. Aspire to be models, but their fate is to die young, although they look to the sun and smile coyly.
The florists I've always remembered the funeral wakes and their children.
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