[Romance and Cigarettes]: 486.The Analysis of a Lost Child

Her bloodshot eyes with bags that sagged beneath them stared at me with hunger.
Her skin, so broken and coarse.
She sat with her mouth hanging wide open as if waiting for a train to ride straight through her.
She wiped her hand across her lips, smudging her crimson lipstick which was now smeared across her cheek, like blood which had been worn..
Her lips were so dry, they would often crack followed by blood which would often roll down to her chin and sit there..
I sat there, fidgeting, anything to keep me from looking at this sight that sat infront of me. Like a fiction character had come to life. My pulse raced..
She glared, painfully into the distance, her torture stares like she had witnessed a massacre.
She held a bottle a bottle of gin in one hand, which would tilt to one side every so often as if it were to fall a million miles to hell itself.
She took another quaff, as the gin playfully rolled down to her chin, joining the blood which now followed down to her large, rounded neck.
The stench of alcohol made it harder to stand anymore as I held my breath one more time.
She spluttered and coughed, then lay, dropping the gin with a crash to the floor that lay beneath us. I could even see now, the broken shards of glass that were reflected in her eyes that day...