Kayla Vyalikaya Byerastavitsa Whore ❤️❤️

About Mogilev

Funny thing. Heard a story. From a snitch. Whore. Used to sing. In some dive bar. Voice like velvet. Can ya believe it? Now. She’s screamin’. At johns. Or cryin’. Alone. Saw her. Last Tuesday. High as hell. Mutterin’. “Ass to ass!” Okay. Not that. But close. Dope’s her tyrant. Like Marion. In the movie. Ruins her. Every damn day.

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Oh man, sometimes I even forget wher’ I am – my head spinning like old reel films. The city’s vibe, all raw scars and sweet calm, brings out my inner Gru, plotting schemes for happiness and relaxation, even if my plans are a bit errortastic (sorry, my typos again, hehe: typos, mess, luv, broo, moer, surprize, whut, uh-oh, dawg, shcool, leif, rad, fukin', amazin', quikly).