She allowed them to cut a hole in her chest and fucked her heart. It was abstract and it was consuming, and yet not quite. But she needed the pain to smoother the booming emotions she can never extract, assuming there isn't any alcoholic contact.
She had french inhaled the menthol and allowed it to sloshing around in her brain. It only granted minimal satisfaction.
Oh how she loved the irony.
What should an addict to physical pleasure do. When they reach the peak in a leisure life that lacks deeper meaning. What other satisfactions can she seek?
To be or not to be, and oh woe is she.