I take a drag from my lipstick-stained cigarette, knowing that smoking is terrible. Yet, the justification for my smoking is worse.
I inhale nicotine, imbued with memories of tough times, and exhale them towards the damaged stars - the very stars to which I plead with every revolution of my naked moon.
Like my lipstick-stained cigarettes, I keep getting thrown to the pavement and trampled, extinguishing the burning desire that's saved within the depths of me.
Crushed.
Kicked.
Never to be seen again.
Vertigo's whisper swirls within me, settling softly like your touch, throwing me off balance.
I've grown accustomed to absorbing his affection like nicotine, a toxin for my soul that poisoned me entirely.
Addicted.
You called me a fiend, but I called it love. So, I inhale my lipstick-stained cigarette containing every word I could ever say.
-La Valéncia
