Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 16, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

2-16-03 sunday 9:12pm brick NJ

that last resort -
that last call that you make
before your eyes turn
to dead weights;

it's all and it's nothing
wrapped in a blizzard
of somethings you'd
rather leave behind;

it's everything and
it's nothing suckling
on the empty nipples
of a love you've been
counting, but could
never count on it.

no waiting -
only wanted;
no hating -
only wondering
when;

your desert grin
could never quench
this parched flesh,
but it could give
the illusion better
than any of them;

your absense did find
its ways to make fonder yet,
a fondness already stronger
than i wanted;
but friends become
that which we make of them,
loves succumb to the
scattered epitaths we
leave on their graves -
whatever is left
is who we have,
whatever words still make sense
are the ones we adhere to
as hope sets on the horizon
of lives too tired to chase her again;

should i say or just keep quiet. that is always my dilemna. how mcy do you want to hear as opposed to how much i can refrain. you don't know. no more than i do. you to me. me to you. it's a distance these hearts cannot expend. it's a riches these hearts will never know such decadence. or if we have, then never again.

i'll hold back. i can. if that's what you wish. no need for telling stories when no one is listening. i'll just say hello in the beginning and goodbye at the end. rhyme me a package of lies and tie a bow around them. send me a heart shaped box of silence and place it round my life. if that's what you want, i no longer have the strength to protest.

there's just too much snow. too little of anything else. a song dances out from the darkness, but the melody is just a feeling i almost had. soemthing i believed once, but lies are like that. that is their purpose.

your eyes never could find the right place to land. they'd scout the territory we'd sometimes share, but still couldn't find anywhere. your thoughts would perch, and stil do sometimes, on my solitude. like vultures watching the corpses become. dig deep into those cavities and find the heart that still tries to live. maybe i don't love. maybe i just can't if not myself, then who? i like to say that i love you, but how can it be true? if not myself. then who? i guess no one. i guess no one can i love. and no one can lvoe me.