westid

say what you will for what’s in the barrel of the revolver. empty it all out and this one stays live no matter how fast you flick the barrel spinning round

i’m not going to start telling myself that it’s over when i know for real i haven’t fuckin started yet. you are the one who needs convincing, because it doesn’t even register as a moment’s worth of listening to whoever might be coming out with flimsy excuses or already disproven spitefully sinister speculations as such and much obliged the length of the fuse that’s already burned away because someone obsessed with causing indefinite delay was kind enough to weigh in with an hostile opinionated dogma as if their true to tabloid sensationalism should albeit unspoken serve to convey the criticism that this is where i should be made to permanently stay – couldn’t fucking help it, just had to waylay – never mind that there’s some important shit going on that the grown ups are trying to work out which way… shit for brains over here took a ten second insentient glance at the computer screen and couldn’t help having something ignorant they just had to say

something that crossed my mind today was: reincarnation can’t be this beautiful continuity of life in the universe. i believed something different abbout that today… that to be born and have to go through all this shit again and again is effectively damnation and when people try to imagine hell they underestimate just the fucking lugubrious fountain of shit that you have to go through while you’re forced to exist here … especially when the wonderful opportunities that are your fuckin birth right are taken away, and the real bastard of divine retribution is to be driven to pray

please please please don’t ruin the ending for me by making it turn out to be just this relentless and tedious shit that i can already see… most importantly give all the ones who hoped good things would happen eventually something spectacular of myself, so they can enjoy the moment finally they will all cry … just as i, long before i die. if you beckon me to vy, i promise that i will try. should you bless me with epiphany and trust me to understand why then i will not let someone fall off the face of the earth and into the sky. and never will i lie and forever make sure that i; me, of all people, would leap far and high in all the faith it’d give me; how could one deny, when they have been chosen by the angels of days gone to grow wings and fly, to see the true beauty of these wishes answered, than bore to death us both simply sat there waiting for what is ever nigh being boring and miserable unmoving, unmoved, disproved, vetted, unable to qualify, in all of the rest of my days withdraw to silent soylent solitude softly there i will cry and, with cruelty in your continued silence for my begging and pleading to in some way rectify… as something i would enjoy living, be shy burned from the pain of no reach out reciprocity … surely your kindness and your spirit would leave me ever giving

… then fuck all good comes, even worse so if you use up your stamina for superstition also asking for other people you care about to see better days. how hard must that punish the fuck out of everyone who prays?

i’m gearing up for a let down, so i’ve followed the procedure and put my expectations away. just like what is expected of me anyway, but i would let someone see if they gave me a chance or even better took the lead while we dance. what pathetic hope there is that – so disappointingly predictable – things will pick up and i will advance

all hope is extinguished in the miniature moment of that one fleeting glance