Departure BBC Radio Session

He was in his room half a week, out Of sleep. The walls of the room seemed to Alter angles, elongating and shrinking Alternatively, then twisting around completely so That he was on the opposite side of the Room. A trick of the light and too much Caffeine, he thought. Then came a knock on the door. This sound was the same dark brown tone as The wood of which the door was made. At first he thought that imagined it, as it Would not have been out of place with the Other strange hallucinatory events of that night. But then it came again, only heavier this time, And with a sense of real urgency. So pulling himself up and stepping through pools of Moonlight and shadow, he made his bleary way across The room towards the door, and slowly, Apprehensively, Raised the latch. The latch became a fingertip, Touching his own. Energy, sounding as new form, Traversing the edge of his emotions. His power became his agony. His power knew no bounds. Whereas before his peace understood its vastness, His prerogative became an endless force of the all Is possible. His final solace lying in the contempt only. Even the legendary glass back would need to turn Into stone if he ceased all sleep, Which already Disintegrated In Tick, tock. Tock. The soft hands you cannot share. The temperature is rising. The face in made of choice. He tried to will himself back to bed. He wanted desperately to feel the reassuring crisp White sheets once taken for granted. To be back home, safe as houses and protected By walls covered in familiar patterns. But even wallpaper had become sinister to him. He remembered staring into the paisley grooves and Seeing a repetition of stones. At night he would listen to the click of Heels on concrete outside and try to imagine the Facial features of the unseen figure. He would always see his own face and now The realization of this prophecy rang terrible and True. For at this moment it was indeed his Own feet that filled the shoes. Shoes that no man would want to wear. Into the hills then. Into the hills then to search for another search As close the goes. Into ballroom course. Under the billowing leaves. Under the dreadful birds. The singing soil. The decrepit babies. The unhappy news herbs. The preaching apophatics. To love thus never. Never to discern. Save for the others. trick of the light. The cracks are the guilty clouds that he would Move into a playground. A sense of moonlight and shadow. Oh the sun sucks. Through the cold motors lava. Wallpaper had become sinister to him. His middle eyes. An ass. The click of heels. White coal. An ass. Rainbow middle. This prophecy. Destination. Horror lies from second bubbles of Russians Blinding.