Dark Poetry Prose Poetry August 11, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

08-11-04 9:28pm wednesday

the world is graveyard. and i swim through the decaying bones. the dust of dead flesh coats my throat. birth is a funeral. love is the wake. and there are just so many eulogies to write. too many burials to attend.

one tiny red hourglass counting an endless minute just below your thumb. fingers dance away in their meaningless tasks while at the juncture of your arm and your hand a clock has stopped.

one small blue moon lapping at the clouds in your mind's sky. seducing the stars as it tugs on your tide.

i met them all with calm hysteria. i opened the door of that cellar i'd spent so much of my life in. and though the light ached in my pupils i refused to shut my lids. though the sounds were deafening and the air heavy on my chest. i did my best to act as if that was the world i had always inhabited.

but there are marks. marks below the skin that still show. they alter the vibration of your every breath. and people can sense it.

i chanced it all more than once. knowing that in the end those marks would prove it false. that no one can ever leave where they've come from. that as far as i could walk, i was carrying it inside me with me every footstep.

one little orange orb on the edge of a galaxy called friends. what i had wanted to believe i've given up. and what i still do isn't much to speak of.

i may've been fooled. it was bound to happen. given all the opportunities it was afforded. but i did. i really did. i alway knew. it wasn't what they said it was. but still i had to take the chance. even if only to be able to say to myself that i made the effort. just to know that if it could've it would've happened. just to know that i wasn't afraid. just wasn't wanted.