Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 14, 2006 Dark Poetic Prose

01-14-06 saturday 11:31pm

the glass gripped back as my fingers clutched it. with a cold fist it clenched the hand that held it. as it always has. it's all deep end. no shallows there. it's all drowning and islands.

we used to talk about the most trivial things. like songs and movies. because depth was something we were always stuck with.

we'd piss cliches down the night's neck. flushing our lives away. because we never really wanted it. it was all just waste.

we puked laughter while tears would wait patiently. every thing we did was to avoid what we really thought. and it worked so well for so long.

it wasn't so sad that reality had to interfere. just that the only memories we have of each other are all urine and vomit.