So my best friend had a blog that accompanies songs with stories; the emotions they elicit.
This is my futile attempt because listening to this song made me think of this. Hope you like it.
She stares out from yellowed windows in a yellow painted room, gazing into the orange haze of streetlights and ozone below her. She blows smoke out of fingers riddled with snagged and torn nails from the unsightly habit of biting them till the cuticles no longer exist and the nail beds provide no rest for anything.
She stares longingly out into the haze, forming smoke rings with her red, parched lips. She could be thinking or she could be in a medicated daze. All she knows is that the cold bed is not inviting and the night has only just begun.
She puts out her cigarette in a large pink seashell rioting with black ashes and older butts and reaches in her pocket for her pack. Her fingers brush the light film of plastic on the pack and she hesitates, debating whether her need for her drug, her lifeline in the lonely world, is extreme.
Instead, her hands fall to the the side, sweeping past the chilled metal on the rims of her wheelchair. In the corner, the haggard nurse coughs, waiting for her drugs to take her away from the tired world and into a restful slumber un-riddled by cigarette butts and broken dreams.
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