Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 7, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

01-07-04 wednesday 9:19pm brick NJ

yesterday playing softly in my head like a ballad. feelings swoon like children at christmas. who could ever know that that last time would really be the last. because when you want it that much it doesn't seem possible that it can end. because of all the ways there are to lie to yourself. appease your aching heart. sometimes it means so much that as you're telling it you begin to believe the lie.

watch the moments passed like black and white movies. sketchy reproductions of how love did something more than die.

i know that this night floats quietly as do all the rest. adrift on a vast ocean of discontent. constantly looking for the sparse buoys that indicate the land they have tread.

i can no longer speak. so let our memories be my voice. i can find no way to believe. so let us leave it for time to judge if it was real.