The Suicide Circle

Art

"Your cigarette..." Her breath hitched as she grasped the headboards.

"Use it." She looked at the burning out cigarette that was lying on the bedside table.

"Burn me."

Her eyes closed and she arched her head back as the heated stick made contact with her pale skin.

"Mm..." She quietly hummed, smiling with bliss at the pain filled burning sensation.

She was now sitting on the side of the bed, smoking her own cigarette. Her eye makeup was smudged from uninvited tears, her wavy hair was messy, and she was wearing a golden robe made of silk.

The smoke from her cigarette clashed with the musky smell of the room. She didn't mind. She felt suffocated, but kept breathing in the polluted air around her, loving how much it hurt. Her chest was tight, her throat burned, her mouth was dry.

Her cigarette was getting close to its end, and she took one last whiff, burning off more of it.

She traced her fingers over her collarbones, the skin on it scarred with grey perfectly horizontally aligned cigarette burns.

Her body was her art. She stamped welts on her collarbones, she painted lines on her wrists, she inhaled her lungs grey.

She sighed as she finished off the art on her collarbones with another stamp near her shoulder. But she wasn't ever really done, when a stamp fades, she adds another one over it.

Her eyes flickered over to the money on the bedside table, and she took it, before tossing the cigarette butt away.