Thick, spheric, spilling viscous reflex over her thick cigarette. She striates the albus streaks with pipette spouts of inhaled excess, blowing harshly out, expelling
From the bathroom window a chin, throat, apparatus and the smoke, all stroked in the thick mix of the lulling pigments, chanelling weeps of the fettered mirror. Her deeply set cheeks were washed in some of the tertiary reflections; weakly kept weeps toured depths of her contoured complexion.
At which she was reflecting. The opulent glow of celestial objects, those which bathed the room of her bathing, and their lifelessness. Hunk of (extra/)terrestrial material beautifully purposed, without liability inherent in complex anatomy. Taking further sips of her stick again, reassessed the moon, squinting at its welt skin.

I lost them because they couldn’t see my relation to it.

Of sense I’m many years incongruent. What does it mean to be so upset, with no understanding of the causation of it? One searches for their own chain-addled purpose
and finds only inoperable pliers.
They descried us
Poor defenseless animal caught feebly under the rays of night, gnawing at my hind legs. Some allure in that. Hypothalamic.
I sensed the intention emanating from the intriguing pose –
“Oh this poor creature so dear and so exceptionally unfortunate. Nothing this gorgeous should so be sought by anything natural to rot in the way it surely would, were I not to encroach.” They would collapse at my feet and slot comforting hands onto void organs, satiate my empty time-passing. My face would grow full and rosy beside their inflections, learning and sharing.
But then, preceding everything, something else entered. An incisive cold, such that dense lashings of the moon wrought my curled body in chilblain. Scalding, unyielding force. Their pre-frontal cortex, prognosing that I was already dead
and had no remaining cause.

I lost them because they couldn’t see my relation to it.

Chipped (and of them), oesteric. Nth exhale of hers gives some cardinal evidence to the waning, for it is followed by some coughs. Gentle and assured, she stumped the whole thing out, leaning into the windowsill briefly revealing herself in full to the seeking white shrouds, those glimmered cheeks stretching towards the lips, forming a pout, in which she figured with the final embers a final regard.

I cannot remember another’s I’ve felt.