the cigarette enthusiast

she is a cigarette enthusiast. burns through different packs, one after another. lost count of how many packs she finishes in a day. lost count of how much money she’d lost to this sickening addiction. makes up for it anyway with countless part-time jobs. here and there. everywhere. never really committed full-time. never really was the type who could commit. people would see her as this carefree, she’s got charge of her own life sort of admiration. she begs to differ. in all truths, she’s just lost. trying to find herself but never really understood the point of living.

 

all she’s been doing is inhaling toxic into her lungs. addicted to the feeling of not feeling. the fleeting sensation of muted chaotic mind when the nicotine occupies her body. the bitter aftermath on the tip of her tongue. licks her lips, she thinks she exhales remedy every time the smoke puffs out. this is remedy. the cure to her brokenness. she laughs at the irony of breaking herself to aid the feeling of being broken. but she was born fucked. and the world is a fucked up place. maybe that’s how it all falls into place.

 

camels. dunhills. lucky strikes. crushes her last empty pack with her palm. nothing seemed to be strong enough. she smoked to feel numb, but now she just tastes smoke. numb to cigarettes. her coping mechanism progressed in stages. it used to be cigarettes, it used to be the self-inflicted scars on her body. it used to be so, so many things. self-destructive things.

 

i think you’re like a drug, she whispers beneath tangled breaths. two forty five on the balcony, shaky from the cold night air kissing her skin. being here with him again, a decision devoid of the causation principle. a mindless one. even in the most innocent form. nothing else matters when it’s them. he doesn’t speak. eyes fixated on the streets fourteen floors below. an addiction, bad for me, but i need you all the same.

 

drugs are expensive, he jokes.

 

and she’d pay with the price of having her heart sliced to thin strips. even if he would burn them to ashes. and spit on the pile.

I'm a motherfuckin' princess.
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