young and bitter she felt at that very moment. the foul taste of life contradicted the sweet rinse of rosé, she really wished that abrupt cigarette was lit again. she could remember the churn in her stomach when the tobacco hit, how, unless she stopped thinking all together she would feel nothing but ill. she obeyed, stopping, finally, letting the slow tunes fly freely across the plains of her mind. she was at peace. she wondered to herself, if this is what death felt like. the silence of all things bad, and, a matter of a fact, all things good. rest in peace she told herself, for this must be what living is, being aware that death is around the corner. misery loves company, and, well, to achieve life, you must die, or life wont be anything at all.
and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something