westid

lemme craic on with somethin that does rhyme. i’ve been losin it for a long time. people look on and they don’t care, or they talk to me but aren’t there. i don’t need to look very far. i’m gettin mixed up who they are. blasting off like a rocket. kicking off in the car. upside down people on the old road. i’m not superstitious, abnormal yeah in some ways.

omens keep on following me. something about grandad and a cup of tea. bits of things i hadn’t started to remember yet, when i woke up wrote it all down so i don’t forget. books and books of mental-ness i forget, projection mind i think i regret. i went to see someone yesterday, said some mad shit and then run away; one sojourn i never go round that way – so sorry for saying something like a knob, or running for my life. probably no one there, wasn’t after all. i go for days and days without noticing, but i actually don’t sleep; sorry if i come it like a creep, i weren’t tryin it on, or tryin to do owt wrong – there’s nothing i can do about it – most people just sort of play along. walkin that way with the bird song. feel like such a knobstacle course. sorry for bein like a mong

you were listening to me standin there, you’re the one who saved me that night, hiding in plain sight. don’t be upset, second sight; i might be losing my mind, but i didn’t forget. but i guess said something horrible, i will probably regret. what am i go you? if not a clue, since we met – or better yet … you know so much, but as is always foretold in the hilariously fictional local folklore, i’m something cold. you know me from before that, you are something more – but i never see your eyes. overted your gaze, routinely bring with you first thing in the weekend days, nothing stays. doesn’t matter, anyways. gone to the door, number 52, not seen you anymore. maybe it’s because i finally fall asleep, and you weren’t really there, i weren’t comin it a creep was i? i sometimes get scared. say unusual things. run away. run for my life, new beginnings. immortal, i am. pushed to the brink and over the edge. so at peace, yet somehow equal. a kind of acceptance about you, how have you been? this is my only way i talk to the world, and i have to say it to them all. they don’t see it that way but they think i’m watching them all the time every day. i just catch the highlights my computer takes, i dunno how though but it seems so that it bothers people