Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 13, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

6:39am 03-13-04 saturday

why goes on forever. or at least as long as i do. because it's a question impossible to answer. why was i born. why was i taken from the womb. why with all the ways there are to die did i not die that sunday morning when i was so weak, and fragile and new.

why not just admit how very much i feel alone. that those people who once made it untrue now make it that much more so.

and i sometimes want to forget them. ignore the phone. delete the messages. sometimes i do, but i always answer again. i don't know why. still so alike that stupid infant who didn't die that morning in that hospital room. not a single reason to live and so many to die for, but why still stands defiant. why still goes on fucking life like some cheap manhattan whore.

8:40pm 3-13-04 saturday

from the movie adaptation - "you are what you love, not what loves you" (wish i could believe that)

i don't want to sit here having these nights teach me how to live like this. adapting simply because i have no choice. no different than a tree whose branches slowly change their arc to accomodate the environment it's rooted in. or the grass beneath it that learns to live without sunlight because it is shadowed by.

i don't want to adapt to this. this aloneness. but day by day and night by night without my consent my life is still doing just that. and that's what makes me saddest of all. not that i am alone right now, but that someday soon i might have accepted it as fact. and may never again know anything else.

everyone adapts hardly even knowing it. from passionate affairs to loveless marriages. from rich to poor and poor to wealth. humanity's greatest flaw is that it too readily accepts its circumstances. that whatever the loss. whatever the lack. eventually they learn to live with or without. and go on as if.

it makes a mockery of anything they ever claimed to care about. it tells me only that nothing really matters to them except survival. that no one loves anything except themselves. that the only thing that matters to anyone is how many years. how many breaths. they adapt. they live with and live without. and do so until. they cling to every last breath as if that is the only thing that's ever mattered to them.

i don't want to adapt. to become one with this loneliness and just accept that it is. i don't want to love only myself. only the act of surviving. how could anyone love that when it's really only leading them to dying. how does anyone ever claim to love anything when ultimately if it were gone they'd go right on living. in short time they'd adapt. convince themselves it was never needed.

it's humanity's greatest flaw. we adapt to readily. to pain. to loss. to anything that happens. we go on just the same. and in time, it's almost as if it never mattered to begin with.

adaptation. it takes the lonely and convinces them that alone is where they want to be. it takes the heartbroken and makes them believe they can love again. adaptation. it makes mothers forget their dead children. it makes life keep on going, but it never gives a reason.

9:44pm 3-13-04 saturday

pent up sighs are all that i can breathe. i sometimes try to inhale, but it's so empty.

now that i realize this is. that change can come, but in reality it's nothing more than illusion.

like naked tree branches waiting on an april's rain to give back the life that the winter claimed. it's not change. it's repetition. it's not life. it's existence.

and knowing that this charmed elixir will only taste good so long as stubborness will let her. and what then? what then shall i crave. when all my habits have grown tired of me and there's nothing left to change.

if i could sleep. sleep again like i used to. or wake up. wake up at last from this catatonia. but why. why suffer the waking when all it's ever done is suffer me.

perhaps if i could give birth. have some helpless life dependent upon mine. but i couldn't bring myself to be that selfish. i'd rather be alone like this. misersable. than to extract happiness out of someone else.

all i really want to do is die. for all the things and people i've had the chance to possibly love, i honestly don't think it was worth the effort. all that having to get over. all that learning to accept. even if just one of them had loved half as much, i'm not sure how that matters now. and anyway, i honestly don't think that they ever did.

i guess i'll get my wish eventually. since death is the only one we can truly trust. i guess someday i'll have that thing i've always wanted. even if. i guess it won't matter then, even if, i really wanted something else in the meanwhile.

10:14pm 03-13-04 saturday

you can never be there when i need you. cause no one should ever need this much. funny thing is, i never used to.

you can never be there when i need you. cause i'm not needed. and that makes it all feel so pathetic.

what i need is the momentary use of one of your guns. that's all i really need from you. even if you chose to always be there, it would serve no purpose.

i feel just like a flower that someone plucked the petals off to ask. am i loved by them or am i not. nothing left but the center and the stem. to be discarded. to be thrown away after it has answered them.

you can't be there when you're needed by me because i need too much. and you've other responsibilites. because no one should ever feel this empty. and no other person should ever have to know that.

you can't be there when. i couldn't let you even if. because no one should ever feel this alone. that it's so permanent. and no one should ever have to know that about a friend.