Is there a reason for this name – “Cigarettes and Broken Strings”? Or is it a couple of words held hostage together just for the sake of giving it a nice ring?
Hence on such a night, you stay quiet, do not praise the beauty, let it drown on its own, let it choke and soon you find yourself in its place.
So there I was lying upside down in a room almost pitch black except for a dying flake of light I seemed to rekindle with every puff.
These white sticks of fleeting pleasure are to be enjoyed nonetheless, even if they hurt, even if they kill you. It is an addiction after all.
It never mattered who was playing her or how he was playing her, but those rusty string sang each time, every time.
I felt just like that gloomy night, unable to focus on anything but my own anguish, it’s torturous. Nothing can be more painful than when you recognize the problem but just can’t stop. And those cigarettes and broken strings have been there by my side through it all.
But what I fear the most, losing them alongside my unhappiness. What if all of it is linked together, what if all goes away, even the art.
Hence the chaos in my painting.
Hence the chaos in me.
I hope you liked this post.
If you feel a little bit of what I feel, Let’s talk.
The featured photo is one of my new impressionist oil paintings. Follow me @high_on_colors for more.[Marketting is necessary]
Read I can’t sleep on a cloudless night, you’ll love it if you love Vincent van Gogh.
And as always, don’t forget to Like and Share. See you next time.