[Smirnov Bratva 01] • Distrust

She was a ghost, in heels.

She was there, then she wasn’t.

She would play with my emotions like a well-played guitar.

Then she would disappear. Making me want to strangle her.

Maybe she wasn’t a ghost, maybe she was the giver of sin. Because we sinned every time we touched, every time she was near.

Her lips were shaped like a heart, deceiving you at every word.

Her body was created straight from my fantasies, one I craved to bend to my will.

Her heart, well, who the hell knew. She kept that shit locked tight.

And I couldn’t find the key.