an illusion of love is just smoke and mirrors

you know i'm coming back my way

ex-magician still knows the tricks... tricks are everything to me...

i got a message for you... i keep it in my hand..
you just wish i went away...

well these are the bits of song that i'm quick enough to type as the song plays... and i think there's a story somewhere in there. or the skeleton of one.


i fucking hate this slight of hand. this wayward illusion. the smoke and mirrors involved in conjuring a moment's amusement. i especially hate when the lights come on, and you're just this silly person in a sequined costume holding onto a flimsy wand with plastic flowers dangling on one end.

it used to be easy. it used to be fun. the curtain would come up and i'd lift my sleeves to show you i had nothing to hide. i'd roll out rainbows before your eyes and let you push steel blades through my heart. i'd swallow fire and spit out confetti. it was more than magic, it was magical.

you were my trusted assistant. 3 years of illusion. then something changed.

you pressed me to betray my secrets. you waved your hands in front of me searching for wires. you watched my moves with spite in your eyes; the delight all but vanished.

3 years disillusion. more smoke. a hard drink. and broken mirrors.

i'm on the stage again and i've got a rabbit tucked away in the folds of the bottom of this hat. i place my gloved hand into the satin lining and pull out a giant ball of lint and dust. the rabbit has disappeared... or was never there... or has gone down the rabbit hole to join some tea party. and here comes the taunting: silly me, tricks are for kids.

and the applause comes in painful stutters to remind me i'm a poor prestidigitator.