Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 15, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

02-15-04 sunday 10pm brick NJ

close the lid. put me back into storage again. because that season has passed and i'm no longer needed. lay me next to the christmas lights. maybe next year someone will see how i tried. but i'd rather just. i'd rather just give this life away to someone who really needs one. why. why can't i do that. let some kid with cancer live in my place. let them live the life that i've never been able.

paint me orange because that's the color of sunset. and i wish that i could be the sun then. sneak away behind the horizon and let the moon be there in my stead.

it was all untrue again. and now the memories i'd set aside to comfort me when have taken off their disguises. and they're just as ugly. just as mean as the others are. and they're taunting me just the same as all the rest.

paint me green. because i just don't seem to learn. it seems i'll always be new to this world no matter how much time it lays on me. paint me green because it's never easy. it's not easy waking up. and it's not easy falling asleep. and there's nothing at all easy about everything inbetween.

paint me black like the waves at night. angry and crashing, but no one sees. aching and trying to escape themselves. i know just how they feel. all those people riding on them. all those people who use them to get where they are going and then forget.

paint me black like the ocean at night. beating itself up after all the boats that rode it have been docked. restless and yearning, but unable to reach a purpose beyond. doomed to keep crashing. doomed to spend eternity reaching for a shore that doesn't want.

i just want the hurt to stop. but it doesn't. it just gets worse. and i don't want to be a burden. so i guess that's why they made me nothing.

i'll count my friends. one, two, none again. i'll count my blessings as i pay my taxes. you owe this much and you'll get nothing for them.

i'll write my sad little verses to accompany this sad little person. not to be pitied, but rather to be forgotten. i wish that you'd put as many bullets into my heart as you have put tears. don't want any sympathy. not unless it involves killing me. because i'm so weak. weaker now than i've ever been. because everything about life outside my world makes me cry. every sappy commercial. every allusion to love or family.

because my sympathies lie not with myself, but with those that actually think i'm worth keeping. because my sympathies lie not in my own grief, but with those whose grief would be greater multiplied by my release.

to mcdoofus i say, you were the best friend that you could be. whether or not that was enough doesn't really matter since i wasn't worth saving.

to scooter, or scott, as the case may be, i say you hurt me most of all, because you, i honestly believed. because you knew how fragile i was and still you dropped me. because you said those covetted words and then left me alone with them. because you could've said nothing, but you lied and said you loved me.

and to mike, or michael as i usually referred to you, you paid me back all the money that you owed me, but you may as well have kept it, cuz alone like this, it's of no use to me.

and to all of you, the few that you are, there's no hard feelings, just a constant inability to hold back tears when i'm reminded of all that's been. when i'm caught watching images of how other lives can be. and all the things that make life a cure instead of a disease.

i don't belong here. i never have. and you all served to make that abundantly clear. i don't belong here. and there's no way that i can. and all of you, each in your own way, taught me that.