Perfume

"He still had enough perfume left to enslave the whole world if he so chose. He could walk to Versailles and have the king kiss his feet. He could write the pope a perfumed letter and reveal himself as the new Messiah. He could do all this, and more, if he wanted to. He possessed a power stronger than the power of money, or terror, or death - the invincible power to command the love of man kind. There was only one thing the perfume could not do. It could not turn him into a person who could love and be loved like everyone else. So, to hell with it he thought. To hell with the world. With the perfume. With himself."


- Perfume: The Story of a Murderer 

The spark of life has blown her away.
Live because she was born to live. 
Exist because she was created to exist. 
Death come slowly, take your time. 
Waiting here with stiff skin and broken hair. 
Energy patterns like multicolored lights.
Last night's dream of a dead puppy,
blood oozing from its neck. 
The path of needles or the path of pins?
She felt its death so vivid there within her palms.
Paranoia with relaxation,
hatred with love. 
Wielding inertia. Civilized to savagery.   
Questions preferred without answers. 
A moment's thought.
That is gone,
vanished. 
Forgotten. Remembered. Forgotten.
Subconscious effect of awakening.