Glimpses of Desire
It horrified me the first time, when my rage at the spirits of the rebellious vacuum cleaner couldn't distract me from the sandalwood scent of sorrow and the drifting nature of my happiness.
Joy settles around me like a thick mist of lemon, I've realized, blinding me to direction and the world. I am lost happily within it, unknowing of my plight, and when it goes (though I've never managed to keep it away for long) I am lost anew and don't know what to do with my sorrow.
For as long as I need happiness to survive I will despise it, and once I grow accustomed to it I realize that I still hate it. Peace has become a sort of dreary throbbing in my side, and I have to soothe it somehow.
So is it really any surprise that when I return to school I bring with me the scent of smoke like sweet oblivion in which I will drown the pumpkin and peppermint-clean glee I find around every corner?
Does it surprise anyone who notices that I sleep with a golden haired serpent tongued enemy to dull my senses rather than hone them, to enhance pain and twist pleasure beyond recognition? I almost feel like I'm back home, when his fresh lime scent is overpowered by my sharp smoky tang of weed. This desire to corrupt has always been the largest part of me.
Sometimes (when he is stoned enough to think I'm too stoned to remember) he tells me about his father ignoring him, "...and it made me angry, and it hurts me when you ignore me too" but he is lying because he is dead, and even I know that corpses can't feel.
Is it really such a shock that The Boy-Who-Lived likes to pretend he's numb to the world, just every so often?
I'm getting better at keeping my life away.