their lungs breathe cigarettes.
smoke curls around them; it's thick, putrid. yet they inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. slowly burn their life away.
chemicals poison their bodies, thoughts plague their minds. and the today girls wonder: like the wispy tendrils of smoke, stretching slowly, reaching, then dissipating - is that the life that they, too, will live?
too fast, too deadly, then disappearing to nothing? will memories* remain, like the lingering smell after a cigarette? (rancid, like decaying lungs and rotten, like broken hearts.) will they be remembered for this?
ash falls to the carpet.
'it stinks in here', they think, but only for a second.
* - demons that lurk in the back of our skulls, that reveal themselves when we're at our lowest.
