The Velvet Poison

The Velvet Poison by Darryl Houston Smith

A velvet poison that lifts gloom. Not the cold remedy of the scalpel or pill, which numbs the nerve and subjugates the will, but a dark balm, a subtle green perfume that breaks the bars of our living tomb.

It arrives as a vapor, languid and deep, where senses mingle and are set free. The eye now hears the colors singing, the ear inhales the scent of shadows. The cramped, foul room, stained with soot and dread, transforms into a palace, richly carpeted. This is the hashish of the soul’s disease, offering the captive mind a brief, sweet relief.

Let priests and doctors call it sin or blight; this flower blooms in artificial light. It is a key to the ideal we seek, a fleeting heaven stolen from the grave, a remedy for the deepest pain. The horror of a life that stands too still.