Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 25, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

02-25-04 wednesday 8:22pm brick NJ

sometimes cardboard is sharper than knives are. it cuts quicker, but messier. leaves scars. and just like that sometimes friends cuts deeper than love. where love may break hearts. frineds may paralyze them.

it's not that they don't mean well. it's not that the effort isn't noticed. there's just something very belittling about watching all those romances turn to stone.

and maybe i'm just ungrateful. because they could give nothing at all. but they chose to give something. but when has filling one hole ever filled the rest of them.

sometimes it's easy to get to the cake inside. and other times the box is stubborn. sometimes it's easy, but other times it requires blood.

it's not that i don't appreciate. it's not that i don't know it could be worse. but how is it could be worse supposed to alleviate all that other hurt.

it's really true. sometimes cardboard cuts quicker than blades. at first it's just an indent, but then slowly the blood begins to show.

02-25-04 wednesday 10:11pm brick NJ

magic eight balls sitting on your desk unquestioned for ages. just one more object to dust. and that dodecahedron, or whatever shape is within it, flaoting in that blue liquid with its prefrabricated answers to all the quetsions any life dare ask.

magic eight balls like anything that offers a possible answer, may be totally false, but when your own answers aren't what you'd like to hear you're willing to believe them.

and poland springs. all ripe with clear waters to quench the deepest of thirsts. it's only water. only the source of all life. so if it began so simple. so pure. how has it come to this.

if tool is maynard. but a perfect circle is not. how do they feel so similar. is it just that they speak the same language. or it is just that they both speak to me.

as i scan who has seen. the statistics. who has read. i'm a little bit humbled. a little embarrassed. and in the patterns i find repetitions and am i curious. in their patterns i find beacons. and i am drawn to them.

i've never been one to embrace the world. or to put myself into it. and now that i have on some level it's very addictive to watch the consequence.

those that i know reading me for the first time. and i can't help but wonder what they interpret. because i know in every life every sentence reads different.

and those that i don't know. who went seeking sad writings. to put me into their college papers. to use me as an example of god knows what.

magic eight balls will answer all your doubts if you're willing to let them. rather than just letting them collect dust on your desk. but that magic died when you broke the first one by dropping it on the kitchen floor when you were a kid. and you can try to buy it back. but it won't ever be the same again.