Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 25, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

01-25-04 sunday 10:49pm brick NJ

if i can't say goodbye, but i'm thinking it. has it still happened. if i can't say goodbye, but can't say hello either. where does that put us.

to me you're like a song whose lyrics i can't understand, but i still want to sing along. so i try, but it's all wrong. i try, but all i know is the chorus.

in every life there are places. places that it goes, but shouldn't. and spaces it neglects that maybe it'd be better off if it didn't. in all friends there's a possible enemy. in every lover potential hate. in every breath a step toward death.

there are far too few ways to find to love a life. and so many reasons not to. far too few reasons to be thankful that you've woken up this morning. and such a staggering number of ones that say you shouldn't want to.

even those closest to me, i feel like an audience watching. like all theater, you have your villains and your heros. like all that is truthful, often the two extremes will intermingle.

what shall i do. now that i have no goodbye neither any hello for you. what shall i do now that all the world i've tried to embrace has left me feeling i should've never attempted to. even those who've only been loyal somehow it all leaves me feeling less somehow. tucked away in their own shells. their own lives. connections i once thought were live watching them die.

it's like no electricity. no air to breathe. feels like i've been resussitated only to die again. and maybe, just maybe i guess that's how it had to be, but i want to know why. not why me, but why anything. why live when it's only killing you. why love when it's only trying to break you. why hold on when it just wants you to let go. why ever say hello when you know goodbye is sure to follow.

it's not a dream. it isn't ink and paper. it's real and it doesn't seem to matter. there's no stage. no audience to feel for the actors. it's just us. the lines we didn't rehearse. the roles that we made a mockery of.

i still write, though it's harder now. takes more time. more alcohol to draw it out. i still write because it's the only constant i can recall. but even it is leaving me. for sixteen years it has been my confidante. my companion when there were no others. and now even it is leaving me. or maybe it's me. maybe i'm the one who's always leaving. i never thought so, but now i don't know. maybe i'm the one who says goodbye. not with words, but the lack thereof. too hurt to pick up the phone. too depressed to end another conversation. maybe it's me. maybe it always has been. but even so. even if. you'd think that someone would know that's not really what i need. not really what i want. it's just so hard. it just hurts so much. watching their lives expand while mine continues to contract. i want them to be happy. but it still hurts when you're the one who doesn't have.

01-25-04 sunday 11:18pm brick NJ

i don't know what i'm supposed to have. i just know it's something that i don't. i don't know if what i need even exists. i just know that i need to have it.

i don't know who or what could possibly provide it, but i know that life is empty without it. i don't really know what it is i need. i just know that i need something i haven't found yet. or hasn't found me. i don't know that i ever will find it or it me. i just know that without it life is so empty.

and i wonder. wonder all the time if it even exists. and even if it does. whatever it is, if i did find it, would it even want me.