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Terminus - Xtul
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Psychic Tv
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Quiet and hooded, his eyes stared out, small hands
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make patterns on the window. Body shifting on wood,
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dog outside the door, flickering memories as trains
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maneuver in the old men's eyes. Forever part of a sleep-
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ing world, waiting for him to come. Lost dreams of
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childhood forgotten like hope. These lives are grey
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stones made for cemeteries, this time the victim is
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desired, like misery. He stepped down from the train,
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dust on road and clothes, across the way a boy was
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grinning, hard-on obvious in torn grey trousers
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inherited from an earlier victim of the white horse.
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Filing past the flowers and signs full of dreams,
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light of night filtering where woof tiles slipped,
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into that darkness. Each ritual makes demand, a hope-
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less coil of expensive death affirming our exeistence.
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The direction never changes, never falters. Along
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those derelict lines lines to journey's end. Small hands
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smear juice on flesh squeezing tight crinkling of
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skin against worn eyes. There is no need of light.
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Somewhere, in the secret cathedral, small movements,
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the whole area covered in sheets of snow, pitted by
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huts. He had no expectations, there was no reason,
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breathing short as the text on the wall. Whenever the
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dog moved, the night trembled, shimmering like water
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moved by leaves in a forest. Marks of cold spray in
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the dust, as in the future faded by choice. Our appetite
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for miracles is not enough. Here, only animals
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remain, immaculate, seduced by pain. Ending fear into
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specters of welcome. Floor stained with patients. The
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moment of least action. He moved like a rat in rubble
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toward the sheets of snow, awake and empty, like an
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old house, the place where all dreams meet. "He was
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grinning before he jumped".
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Las night the boy came. Open arms. Black hair.
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Strong. Empty pale face. A volunteer. Unsure of why
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he came. Seduced by pain. A faded painting. Waiting
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for release, he blinked, looked up at the ceiling,
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let out a tiny gasp praying for oblivion.
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No engines anymoore. The machine engine's stopped. No
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ghosts of death playing in the grass. Just simple, as
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you would expect. No physical core. No smiles of love
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from pitted carriages. Just an empty town. Derelict.
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No way to identify. Sound playing across skin like
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fingers. Just as ampty as flesh. What do you want?
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Nothing in particular. No reason at all. Just a noise
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of dreams at the door. Just as before. Did you see
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that?
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This is the place where all roads meet, the place
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where all is the secret. The Place where time stands
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still in the comfort of night and love becomes will
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in the presence of light. I never want to leave. I
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never want to leave. I never want to leave.
Ava Max - Sweet but Psycho [Official Mus...
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