Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 8, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

02-08-04 sundaay 9:27pm brick NJ

pages. piles of them. ink and loneliness filling puddles. muddy and dark. dirty and sticky sweet.

pages and ink. hand drawn like friends and love. curved lines intersecting. a choice is just a sentence without punctuation. it's already been written. it's just a question of when it will end.

what is the quest. what to seek. only my heart knows. and we are no longer friends.

how far is a safe distance. how many nights enough to secure your happiness. that you won't be tempted again. that i won't be inclined to put it to the test.

how many years does it take to prove that alone has dug your grave. how many tears must be cried to prove that this isn't a lie. that it hurts everyday. that my only possible saving could be to die.

how many bottles must i empty before they put me to sleep permanently? how many friends must i piss off before they realize i'm a lost cuase?

pages. literally piles of them. saturated with ink and sadness. i draw. i write. i design. i live. i die. like every twenty four hours does.

we hold. we release. we proclaim misguided loyalties. bringing hearts back to life only to smother them. offering tokens of love only to recind those gifts.

i don't suppose that i've ever been really loved. the kind that gives matrimony. or the kind that makes you hate valentines less. i don't suppose that i ever will be given my track record. it's a wonder i've ever made contact with anyone. i guess i'm lucky if they even lied about having fallen.

i don't suppose that anyone has ever really loved me. what's to love. i don't suppose that i can be since loving yourself is a prerequisite.

pages. too many of them. sketches and words in a frenzy. short skirts and bigger boobs would serve me better. but i like pants and i developed flat chested. but i like being real better than i like being wanted. it would be nice. it would be nice to feel that. but not unless it's really me that they're wanting.

ronnie said it so accurately. maybe it's all about love. and i had to agree. because let's face it, what else have we. when the years begin to threaten and the future is suddenly the present. what have we to live for except the people that are glad we're here. what have we to keep living for except the people that need us more than we need ourselves. without them we can surely live, but it's an empty existence. without them we would not die, but we might wish that we did.