westid

♀ knows how to pick the right moment. the calcified illusion of her is buried too deep within my mind. sometimes the tears cry in my sleep, coming from within. they give me the dreams that i have now, of a simpler time when i knew nothing but wonder and curious so about the future

faced with what, reality? and absolutely nothing else. i would rather die chasing the illusion. it is more real than the broken winds passing through me. at the top of town, i put my arms out – hold up high my sceptre in the storm – and i call out to venus. for the bolt from the moon to pass through me so that it can get from the stars and into the ground. a small price to pay if the mighty engine of the universe swept my soul away and took me along with it for the ride. alright then son, the big brother returneth, let’s go for a ride

flying past the potemkin utopia all ablur, i only ask that cruise control will slam on before i get excited at the idea that it’s finally too late. or i may not have the self control to go on going without it. ♀ wants the whole truth and nothing but the truth, i turn my face away back toward the dark. how can i tell anyone what goes on in here, when they give me fair warning they will break my confidence as soon as learn of the performance, this theatre running empty but the show still goes on, seen only through inner sight

“who wants to know?” i would think to myself. the other me, taking over the mundane while i nip out the back door of my brain for a minute to inhale smoke, try to remember the magic of october before it all hallows even again. even just – a stiff jolt to the brain brings me back around again, undoing hours and hours of hard work patiently placing the house of cards that is serenity. a fitting home for the unwitting destruction of a spade, to a mouse i used to know. the present only toucheth thee, and thee is substancial enough on its own to cause one almighty touch such that the past and the future no longer matters so much

i don’t care what the writing says on the hilltop bench brass plate. everything written on it you can learn from just sitting there, just watching the view as the sun goes down. and it can’t wait to go down tonight, let me tell you. come and sit with me, i will show you. i can tell you all about it from memory. only you would need to see, because when it’s high venus i already know i’ve seen enough before the show even began, but you can watch me just to be polite if you can, i ache as another frequency of light disappears from my visible range. i am astrange to all that i am

put this down in your diary, many a blotch has smudged the wording of it. like little drops of rain perhaps? perhaps. but then again, perhaps it’s the tears of a man that i am – take him for all in all – even though; beg steal or borrow, i shall not look his like again. it’s time to come in from the rain and sit down, dear venus. we have much to discuss, but for a moment there and then you can see it in my eyes, from the pain and the summer shone the promised land was completely gone. and when i arise you can almost see my mind, accumulating rust. shedding down the garden blossom trees losing their leaves, the beautiful scenery you look upon … all i see is the fantasy of leaving the world around me. i sit here in contemplation but if i ever knew the sweet temptation of spring ever again and on many occasion, you wouldn’t see me for dust

sometimes she walks amongst us, i see her gaze it’s like the barrel of a loaded gun. i awaken my senses long since turned to stone, and then i catch a glimpse of what it was like to tell the difference between that paradise still calcified inside my mind, a feeling like this could never be mistaken for lust. you talk to me like we all started out exactly the same, you replace with shame what i say isn’t just. so whatever you might think of me, i will never blend in with the painted on windows, you will see me shine on and still wilful, i do what i must

i’m no stranger to illusion, my expectations are more real now than they have ever been. even though i know it’s unlikely that i will, i still try and set a new personal best for all that it could be worth. it’s still real to me because only when it’s over can you truly know love the best you have ever seen, or what that one word – as popularly acclaimed as it is – could in all your lifetime ever possibly mean