Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 20, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

8:20pm 3-20-04 saturday

ambient thoughts color the night in their own image. supposing as they will. like the visions minds will make that the hand cannot create. an ocean of subtlties cancelled out by one small obvious wave.

it's not hate, though it's just as black as. it's not love, though it's just as feverish. it's a recipe for life, but it's written in gibberish.

why and why not become one as i let them. changing origins. altering perceptions. manipulating their dna. cloning excuses.

one tiny microbe of sadness multiplies into millions. and infection. spreads like cancer. withers the heart. leaves all else unaffected.

one tiny reason is all that it takes. to break the seal on that doorway. let it all out. let it all in. simultaneously fill the void and empty it.

9:09pm 03-20-04 saturday

debating with the silence who among us is more quiet. like squirrels crossing heavily trafficked streets. running fast, but blindly. hurrying across, but uncertain why. unable to grasp the difference between danger and safety.

knowing your heart is beating, but feeling it is still. knowing your blood is dancing, but unable to hear the song it's dacning to. knowing life is a scab. a crsuty, bloody seal of a wound. and wanting so much to pick at. to see it bleed again. to know that it still can.

3-20-04 saturday 9:37pm

i know i'm not clinically depressed because i can entertain suicide like a houseguest and just as easily usher it off when i'm bored with it. because i can wish i were dead all the time, but can still resist the urge to make that happen. because i am not consumed solely with my own feelings. i can still empathize with others.

so what the fuck am i. not diseased in that sense, i know. though that would be an easy answer. prescribe me some proxac and life is good again. oh, but nothing in my life has ever had such an easy solution and i doubt that anything ever will.

i know i'm not depressed in the you have a chemical imbalance way. i've read the books. read the admissions of those who were. met some. they want to live, there's just a voice in their head telling them they shouldn't. they don't want to die. there's just a demon in their mind constantly telling them they should. but i do want to die. but me, i don't want to live.

and still the question remains. what's wrong with me. why do i feel so miserable. and if i do, why don't i just shut up and make the noose. because i'm not clinically depressed. because i'm not that selfish. because i know there are people other than myself. and some even care what happens to me.

because any fool can live. that's the easy part. it's the killing yourself that's hard.

9:45pm 3-20-04 saturday

depression is not an affliction. not in my case. it's a reaction to living. or trying to. i'm not lacking prozac. i'm lacking a reason to live. i'm not unable to concentrate. not unable to work. not unable to see the world outside of my skin. it's just that i do see it. and it isn't a pretty picture. it's just that i can concentrate and it leads to pages like this.

it's only just one bottle that becomes so many. just one touch that changes everything. rolling as you will in the breadcrumbs of your apathy. this skin is too dry for it to stick. cut me into pieces. feed me to. i'm just a meal. i'm just something that was once living that's been boned and skinned and packaged to be sold to you. eaten.

10:116pm 3-20-04 saturday

i write no more for you or he or them. i write only for myself. since she is all that i have left.

i care no more to multiply loves unending equations. nor the negatives that go with them.

it's strange how now i can listen to those same songs and not care at all that now our pains are separate. i hear it, but i just don't care. too many basements without stairs. no more climbing. now it is time to sit. to sit upon that landing and allow life to be just what it is. for btter or for worse. i must embrace. must listen. even if deaf, the pulsating will enumerate the flesh. there's no feeling quite like knowing that the tomorrow you worshiped has always been your satan. that in hell it kept you like a lost soul. that with every parahraph you gave it better reason. that you can scream as loud as your lungs will allow, but they'll still only hear a whisper.