westid

i can’t explain to you how she does it. first, this look, she disarms me with her eyes. in my tormented nightmares, she puts her hands on my skin. all the corruption inside of my bloodstream holds its handprint up to hers. ready to be my undoing, if undoing is what she wants. all my weaknesses play to her strengths. what’s the use in fighting it? when her gaze locks onto mine, all i can think of is how good it will feel if i stopped fighting it and give myself to her. and such a gaze, she knows it … i don’t want to give her the satisfaction, but i struggle with all that i am not to show her that any time she wanted, she could take it from me and i wouldn’t stand a chance

her wrath is contagious. everywhere i look, she’s got them all under her fucking spell. rat bags who can’t even pronounce the word loyalty, blinded by the supernova of her light. they gather around and throw themselves into the void at her feet – just one more taste of her poison, they all think in her voice now and they can not go back. how does she do it? what’s happened to them? did they under estimate her once? could that possibly happen to me?

the only thing that puts me off is the other people who are just looking for a bit of amusement. their shallow gain around her makes it impossible to get closer, in any meaningful way. she is unreachable, unobtainable, but i would do anything to see what she would want if she had me all to herself. i have seen her. all i wanted was for her to talk to me again like the first time. all these other things that are going on around me, i couldn’t care less. it’s like this totally unbearable sense of curiosity. in my twisted thoughts i’m blindfolded and wandering around with my hands outstretched in front of me, looking for something to hold on to. she stands before me, guiding me with other people’s voices – the illusion of safety. “quick, she was just here. she could come back any minute. we have to stop her before it’s too late” – i just give her everything and i’m sleepwalking into her trap. deliciously unsuspecting, she whispers in my mind as the poor fool that she knows i am

i can’t tell anybody, but she gives me a look that someone incredibly important to me used to have. i wonder if she can hurt me. i wonder if she even gets to see this. i wonder what she does to get all this loyalty and respect. i wonder awry. there’s no need to wonder, she has done it already. and it’s been building up to that for a while now. i can’t suffer this, and my heart says that i must reign supreme. but she’s already fucked with my head, so my head fucks it up in short order

there is a blessing and a curse that someone who could really fuck me up has awakened so much intrigue inside of me. i thought that it would subside by now after so much time has passed, but it only seems to amplify things when i least expect it. it’s not as often you might think when i get that feeling, the one where someone has totally mangled your head and it’s falling off in this unexpected rush of awe and admiration for this woman. and such a woman

i used to think that some girls can read your thoughts. but in this case she doesn’t have to. meanwhile i daydream, but for all i know she’s putting it there. and i admire her, in a way. she can never know but, such a fool about it am i, she probably already does

nothing will quench what demanding urge tells me it’s worth throwing myself down on the ground at her feet – like all the zombies she has irrevokably hypnotised. did i say that out loud? can she hear me? i am a sentimental fool. how is it fair that i can respect someone who is so dangerous to me. my heart always stops for a few seconds, when she emerges from all of the rest of my thoughts. i say her name as i cut the oxygen off, her emerald eyes look down on me and the smoke draws in the slowest motion from her lips. nobody blows smoke at me. i fucking hate you. i want you. i will stop you. no, don’t stop

gasping for dear life, i come to my senses. i fall to the ground. she isn’t even there and i’m on my hands and knees. what the fuck is wrong with me? she is like a curse. i get up and get on. “cured,” i rationalise. deep deep down i know the guilt of the truth … the more you feel it, the stronger it gets, the more powerful it becomes

maybe i’m poisoned already