Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 4, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

8:47pm 02-04-05 friday

no. know. denial alive with so much pain. goodbye burning like a flame.

i. eye. self abiding what i have seen. quiet. unburdened with all those reasons to weep. and to live.

yield me. so yellow like. and inverted. don't stop. just slow it down and proceed with caution.

farming hearts. irrigated lives. take the water from elsewhere to feed this barren land. force this grave not to die.

it's been too long without pain. and all that stillness after comes. hollow as a bell without a chime. shaking silent.

it's been too long without need. without why. just seashells left on the sand after the storm has gone. mimicking the sound of the ocean they have lost.

9:45pm 02-04-05 friday

pry the night open like a rusted jar. the contents don't matter so much as how hungry you are.

time idling. stalled. the yellow in your eyes tells it to slow down. but i'm tired of waiting. being cautious.

rumbling soft in the greyest of hearts is. a future unrequited. a record player stuck reiterating the end of the album. the needle dancing with the edge of the label as it waits to begin again.

nothing is so surreptitious. you never notice it sneaking in. and empty as i've ever felt i've never lost that need to feel alive again. how bright and painful every glance is. as the whole of the world attacks your vision. every feeling ungrounded. loose, hot wires flailing for a connection.

there's nothing left to love. or wish that i was able to.

just moments that died during birth. they felt so alive as i carried them inside myself.

02-04-05 9:56pm friday

people fall like rain. hail. i try to remember them. cold mortuaries that house the bodies life has acuumluated.

they precipitate. first heavy. then softer still. the hard pavement in my mind shines with their presence. made slick. and wet.

weather. how unfriendly it often is. weather. change again. change me.

i write when i'm writing, other things. to people long gone. words that never find the pages. eyes that never close. wanting back what is gone. or if not, wanting something new to need.

tomorrow lost. driven away. and love or the phantom of making paper cuts across your heart. the kind of wounds that make no stains. the kind of wounds that draw no blood. but hurt just as much.

10:49pm friday 2-04-05

the bottom and the top, not so distant i would guess. just different ways of viewing the same predictament.

they never knew. i couldn't make them understand. why the easier it gets the harder it is.

all i ever wanted was to lose. be done with it. applaud the victor and go back to what i'd been.

never wanted to win. just finish. find that mysterious reason that the race is run. be found by it.

the nights they lasted longer than i could stand. without a little help. form sources better left untapped.

the sex, it was good, but not good enough to justify the expense.

life is a loom. moments are the threads. weave them together into the blanket that will keep you warm when.

it's so much colder than you ever thought it could get. so much loneliner than you imagined..

don't need someone to have. to be had by them. only time in its fortuitous exploitations of these unknowing lives.

i don't neeed to forget. i've already lost that feeling. i need to remember how to hurt again. what reasons to. what pitfalls pleasure has.

and love. i don't know why. what it ever offered. only that ache so alive that i sorely crave. onyl that sorrow so certain that .

and it convincing me. eager lapdog. groomed and fed.

it's not enough to just be. slip into that crack of emptiness. never really there.

time forgets, but you don't. every moment that led up to this. like an avalnche burying you in.