Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 23, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

2-23-04 monday 9pm brick NJ

if moments persist like haunting melodies. feverish flashbacks. if at last they remember you again and speak. and listen. but still nothing alters the current that ripples under your skin. what to do except listen. lay back in the pillowly layers of depressing music and depressive liquids. lay back in your self-made womb of lung and liver killers and suckle like a hungry fetus. and feed on anything that offers even the slightest numbness.

it's lonelier now that i see you're not leaving, but you'll never be mine to keep.

it's lonelier now and i'm not sure that i know why. maybe it's just the years gathering on my heart. maybe it's the fact that i see no future. never have, and worse yet, i'm terrified of finding one.

if the days should insist that's not so hard. but these nights. all these nights watching the headlights move across my vision like whispers in my ear of the life that happens while i'm alone like this.

it's lonelier now that i realize you don't wish to leave. like being able to see happiness. to speak to it, but only from across a broken bridge.

02-23-04 monday 10:46pm brick NJ

a glorified death. that's what this life is. long, drawn out, delayed end. night presents itself like a pill to swallow. though i don't know the function of its drug. the night medicates my mind. turning flesh to dust. and heart to cardboard.

i cannot remember any other sights other than looking northeast to see the orange hum of quiet streetlights. primetime tv in the background. music in the fore. and fingers seeking that one verse that can cure.

i can't remember ever seeing anything else other than the somber orange frown of suburban streetlamps seeking travellers through all that dark. i can't remember though i know i once knew other sights. am i that different of a person since. has it come so very far?