Hunger

Highway lines escape me. Hot chrome mufflers burn. Faces blur, jump out of no where. Crowds coming from the field, laughing. They are us, but we lost them. Sailing down the slops of slow death. Tasting the dagger of delight. Flesh feeds off flesh, tirelessly hunting. Hair hidden revealed brings madness. It never sleeps. Devours. Hunger.

A Natural High

I’d almost walked to the end of our road today when the snow starting falling. I had to back track about a mile to get home. I was bundled up good, wearing insulated long johns, two shirts, a jacket, coat, and a toboggan, so the snow didn’t bother me. The wind wasn’t blowing and the soft flakes drifted slowly like feathers floating to the ground. I felt as if I were in a dream and was glad it didn’t start snowing before I left the house, else I might’ve missed this trip.

Used to, when I smoked pot, I always lit up when the snow started falling. Nowadays, whenever I watch the snowfall, I feel like I’m getting high. Obviously, I trained my mind to let the endorphins flow down into my body as the flakes fall to the ground. I feel sorry for those stringent, anti-drug obsessed people who never knew what it was like to get stoned and watch the snow. I’m sure they’d chide me for my past, but that’s only because they don’t know what they’re missing. If they had indulged as much as I did, then they too might enjoy a free contact buzz when the snowfalls. But more than likely, they’re worried about how fast they can get back home, or how much it’s going to snow, or if they need to stock up at the grocery store for the coming inclement weather. Me, on the other hand, I’m just enjoying walking home in the snow: nothing much better than a natural high.