hannibal

Those magic rings of menthol she exhaled.
Without using her fingers, she puffed away.
A breath, a curl of a lip.
The rings levitated in the air.
Vanishing in pendulous motion into the surrounding air.
She stopped tapped the butt to its end and crushed the cigarette or what's left.
A swig of ruby red liquor to start the evening, a round of red wine before taking swigs of white rum.
Beer was welcome as a snack substituting brunch in the time after evening.
And then in a thrifty yawn she entered into her room, tip toeing, she lived in her small apartment, quite small for all her belongings, the one's she had over time.
The plus sized shirt slid off her shoulder blades, it was his.
Or maybe hers, now in his absence and deficiency.

In thrifty yawns she moaned her last sound and probably the only meaningful one.
Cynicism kills, curiosity just becomes a habit that if not sabotaged leads to its occurrence that renders melancholy and thoughts of death to an extent which becomes pleasurable.

Good night world, as she cocooned in the thick layers of fluffy cotton a muffler the only piece of clothing on her body.
Apart from the cotton rug.

She held her belly and tightly clenched all of its lower.
Her second eye shutting, a trickling tear.
A drop of blood from the fingertip
or far worse from the throat.
Death knocked upon and she knew she'd choose life.
Being bruised was too much of a familiarity to be amused by a strumming guitar sans the mesmerize of the thunderbird, that got us in each other's arms.
The blues, oh honey , Meredith whispered.
And in a lullaby of a loving woman she shut my eye lids tight and clenched my soft skin, kneading it as I drifted into the world.
World.
Heh.

She woke up quickly, rolled tobacco in a rizzla and let out a puff after the light.
She always used a filter so as not to burn her thick pink lips.

She blew smoke above her head as she lay down.
She looked at the mirror on the ceiling.
Mirrors were a solace.
Sometimes iconically ironic of the past.

She drifted finally, she was simple, sleep saved her from the complexities of the forbidden mind.
The drop of wine across her neck trickled down drying across her bosom.
She looked outside of the window and her eyes shut.
In a last conscious breath she smiled and then curled her lip into a pursed line.
Heartbeats were made of those smiles.
Now they just put her to sleep.
As a habit.

Goodnight, world.