thats when she realised, in that moment, it was disgusting. number 2, it was, the cigarette. she wanted nothing more but to ash that fucker. this time when it flowed through her it had a sting, a foul taste. it wouldnt go to her head but her throat, burning it and making it scold. was this was death tastes like? rotting and pain and just a sour nothingness? music became rancid and morbid. she realised she wanted nothing more but the kiss of life. a touch. a warmth. a cigarette nor any amount of booze she can swallow could never fulfil the simple trait of affection. she wanted love and intimacy, that was what life felt like, life properly lived. she pressed it hard until no more of that dark red amber sparked. the taste stayed and the yearning stayed. her mind wasnt cleared, it was worried and needed nurture. whats the point death if you havent properly lived, loved?
and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something