Her Third Cigarette, 2023

24 × 36 in © 2025 J.M. Bond.

The hand on her cheek doesn’t comfort. It props her up. Like she’s been here before. Like she knows it gets worse if you move.

The smoke at the bottom curls slow and familiar. No urgency. No heat. Just habit. Just ritual. A third cigarette not because she needs it, but because she doesn’t know what else to do with her hands.

She’s beautiful, sure. But not in a way that wants anything from you.

Not tonight.

Tonight she only craves what always leaves her emptier, and she lights another anyway.