Perfect Heaven Space

In my perfect heaven space, there’s a picture of you.
To think of all the time I’ve wasted not looking at you.
Answering the questions before it’s been asked.
The answer is in the question I hope you don’t ask.

In my perfect heaven space, there’s an answer for you.
And on my heart I wear a sleeve that you knitted for me,
and you just wanna pull that thread and unravel me,
answering the question before it’s been asked.
The answer is in the question I hope you don’t ask.
On my heart I wear a sleeve that you knitted for me.

In my perfect heaven space, there’s a memory of you.
To think of all the ghosts I’ve faced just remembering you.
Answering the question before it’s been asked.
The answers in the question I hope you don’t ask.

In my perfect heaven space, there’s an answer for you.

Perfect Heaven Space
Travis

Refitting

Perhaps one day, I’ll see things for what they are.

Neither past nor future will hinder this perspective.

My purview will be unaltered and unfiltered, near pristine in purity.

No longer will I see beyond reality and into the world of dreams.

Life has a way of reinforcing the perils and tribulations of this disposition.

These dreams, they haunt me by daylight,

rendering me irrational and insensible where convention is concerned.

I justify notions that would otherwise be deemed mad.

And yet, I defend this state of intention,

because to leave this place would mean that I’m one-dimensional,

no more than the rest of the singular mass.

I’ll stay here in between states of consciousness,

if it means a love that will nurture and protect.

Lustrous

I see you as the expanse between us shrinks and expands.
A definitive figure with broad features sharpened over many years,
certain in your heaviness of existence,
a solid mass of being residing in the shadow of moonlight,
deliberately concealed in the comfort of that immeasurable darkness,
a wish to be stumbled upon anywhere but under the sun.

I think of you under the brightness of my shine,
the way the lines crease around your glimmering eyes,
eyes bluer than the surface of the ocean at the point between noon and eventide,
eyes that behold me with such fervor and intensity,
such that Aphrodite herself would blush at first sight,
had she but remained squarely within your gaze for such a length of time.

I reside here across our mutual desire,
in the comfort of my own twilight,
of misty mornings that clear into afternoons so bright,
I think I’m going to go blind.
I think of you when I sit in the patio at summer’s end,
I see all of you in your commensurate darkness.

Who might you be, wanderer?
Have you come to challenge the roads I’ve forged?
Where does the depth of my heart and soul go,
if they don’t already reside in the life I’ve built?
What life is this, that would pivot so easily?
I wonder time and again of foolishness and hope in equal regard.

Nebula

To the center of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you.
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you.
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you.
In a room with a window in the corner, I found truth.

Joy Division


Give me a plate of dusk for full consumption,
so I can grow to enormous size,
be gluttunous and despicable,
impenetrable and seething,
terrifying in my certainty and thoughtlessness,
some force to behold beyond measurable loathing.
Fear me, chide me, drill me down,
for I reign as worthlessly as the microcosm of my plight,
my ire torn beyond reckoning.

Into the twilight of evening you will take my anima,
out back amongst the warm blooded creatures who graze serenely,
and once you have cut gently into her skin, lay her down to wait for their coming,
to be taken before the sun rises in the gray sky,
taken far from the plane of despair and seclusion.
Let her fade, and let me go.

Springtime

Shine in your pitfalls,
wander in your love,
give purpose to your confusion,
revel in your whims,
do this all in the confines of your desires only,
fashion yourself after your goddesses,
shape your thoughts to the wisdom of your wisewomen,
take not from the piles of uniform production,
not from the idle clouds of murky uniformity,
never from those who are all veneer and no heart,
remember to stay far from the fields of machina,
that whose coats gleam untarnished under the sun,
they will hinder your journey north,
follow the worn roads and walk beneath the sentinel boughs,
stay the path and move forward always,
you are more than you were yesterday.