Musings of a Mongoose - 16. The Nature of Vice

I am not addicted to the substance,

But rather what it does for me

The ways it sparks my creativity

The ways it alleviates reality

The ways it comforts me with illusions

Like childhood cartoons for childhood trauma

We pass the world in the imagination of others

For we are now too scared of our own

And when a light shines in that darkness

Whether it be the embers of a fire, and good friends to share the stars with

Or the buds on the end of the pipe, as I survive one more day through chemical bliss

Or the spark in the eyes of a friend, the flash like lightning that tells me there's about to be a storm, and I love dancing in the wind and rain.

The air carries carries a scent of something burning; of wood, of weed, of ozone...

A little bit of death for a little bit of life

Maybe it's worth it, to die a little, if it means feeling alive again

Or maybe it's time to figure out how to enjoy the weather all the time

A warm breeze washes over me from the southwest

The sun isn't so bad anymore

And I can still taste the ozone