cunning

composed. with two cubes of sugar, the perfect cup of tea, in a perfect evening looking afternoon, hardly any sun, an overdose of wistful, shimmery, stark, pallor, snow.
she crosses her bony legs, peeking through her oversized fur coat, she reaches towards the cigarette and imprisons it  within the opening of her chapped crimson lips, she looks around, and suicide beautifully inhabits the corners of everything in sight, a side effect of winter, she thinks, and in this town it`s winter 80% of the time, so in other words, suicide is always around.
suicide is the time between your finished cigarette and your unlit one, suicide is stuffed inside the compressed partecels of expensive high heal shoes, suicide is larking threw the empty corners of a consumed cup of coffee.
suicide is widely drawn across every word on every page of every book she`s ever read.
suicide is beautiful.
suicide is seductive.
suicide is inevitable.
suicide is cunning.