Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 7, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

1-07-03 10pm brick NJ

i can write until the purple sky is orange again. until the winter forgets how cold it is. i can sit here sucking on this darkness like a final breath. pretending it actually is. and no one would no any better. no one would ever know who i've been. who i tried to be, but couldn't.

i should be walking instead of holding onto these bottles. but eventually it comes down to the easy. even the poet has priorities above the verse. too many words have left me alone. too many pages hae taken, never given.

in other worlds. in other lives i know pain lives. mine is no greater, but not less either. i know that in other lives it is hard, but i don't know why it must be.

frost on the windows. dead candles peak the music's sparks. if life is but a dream then i want to wake up from it. and if it should prove itself something more real, i'd rather not be. if living is just as simple as breathing then i pray these lungs should collapse. and if perchance it's something more meaningful, it is better left to those who can.