westid

i’ve done this before, it’s nothing new

light, as it only does in the evening to the early hours in the morning, still breaks. this is england, so when it’s night time, it’s quiet. we don’t have any silly little insects chirping around at the agonisingly white – as opposed to the yellow that the lights used to be – everyone has you under their silent microscope when you wander round during the night. with real silence, and real country dark. it’s just the same during the day, but that light isn’t as sweeping as it is broad. that’s my idea of what separates the two

in the dark it’s ironic that things are so intense. sensory deprivations curling themselves around you like the dark tentacles of what awaits us all on the other side. the blasting of gale force depreciates itself unto but a promising whisper as the shadow around you rotates in the darkness with; the passing of street lights burning brighter analytical, and anything else that’s also there all day, other things to speak of that, say; you would have noticed too depending on whether you life round here, depending on what you pay attention to about the place when you go your own way

but darkness is darkness. i can’t be responsible for other people that’s nowt to do with me. i can’t be flushed away by a simple backward glance. sometimes the rage, repulsive / belligerent way turns out to be something delightful and if i could only gaze and admire it then i would to love to stay. it was a long time come it and don’t pretend you didn’t want it because you were asking for it. every time someone impresses me, it’s almost like not having to pretend – and i never want the silly little games to end, since i think that’s what makes life. i could be wrong, you could put your head into it if you wanna give me shite like that – then it would be fun for both of us

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