westid

blast. spread the toxic suspense in the air, recursive narrative sprawling around spewing up the blackness thick like a deep pit of tar when you wander into it too far. i want to see you, crouch down and observe every moment, stare into your predicament that develops when you realise you’re making it worse for yourself … trying to get back to where i’m standing; only to find out there was something to get worse because you didn’t notice it at first, doesn’t wanna let go of you well that’s what happens when you get too much a taste for the thirst. now our roles are reversed

how can it get any better than this? right now how does physics work? and all i can do is just lurk and not get involved and say nothing, because you know everything and you will find a way out without my help. you even know not to reach out and ask me, i guess it’s just true that there’s nothing i can do that will add to the wisdom or the very idea of you. but your clever know it all face looks a bit confused and, like, all out of ideas with this one particular school of thought – sinking into something that you’re losing the fight trying to get out of this tide that isn’t so easy to walk … or, rather, wade … through

stop fighting, it’s causing all sorts of unintended side effects with your dignity and everything. almost makes me root for you but that feeling isn’t switched on because you’re the one who thinks it’s ok to treat me like i’m foregone … just because you think you’re so brilliant with all this front and you look down on me because my feelings are raw and – search and search as you do for that relatable veneer – but i don’t have one