Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 15, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

3-15-03 saturday 9:41pm brick NJ

it changes quickly as the wind shifts. the urge to write comes without provocation, but what to say not so ardent.

do i or does anyone really need another verbal portrait of this life i still resent. or the things i love that never did. the ways that i find to make it so. the raindrops i try to hold that always slip through my grip. do i deserve to write another line about it. could it serve any purpose other than to reiterate the fact that i don't know how to change. and that even if i did, who would really notice.

a creative twist of skill and art sells merchandise for those who otherwise might be without option. they see me not as a person, as a service. be it to make them money or to get them off. i'm not a person. i'm a commodity to be traded, bought and sold as appropriate.

i once was a person. but a person without a use. a person no one wanted. now i am wanted, but the reasons still leave me somehow less. now i am wanted, but not in any way that could benefit this life. it only benefits my bank account. and for as much as money is worth. and for as much as i appreciate it. the mirror shows all too clearly the flesh behind the commodity they're trading. the imperfect and scarred remains that life has stuffed into this mind.

they hear me mutter it sometimes when the drugs undermine my composure. that i don't want to be here. that i never have. that i'd like to die if i could without regret. and they don't believe me or they don't care. they think they know me. they might even think that they love me. but no one knows me and no one can love someone who really doesn't want to be. they develop their ways of making whatever hurts a reason to keep coming back to figure out. but it's so different now. now that the pages have turned. no more cries for love. all that's left are the results of. and i can't bring myself to look at what they conclude. i don't want to know what we were or should've or could've or might. i don't want to discuss feelings you can't express.

we'll trade commodities as we always have. we'll maybe sometimes engage in sex. but the void in my heart that only you could fill has given up on ever being complete. the friend that that you were is no longer the friend that you wish to be. it's funny and confusing how many definitions there can be. we'll trade stories maybe some nights when there's nothing better to do. we'll still hold on to possibilities that really aren't ours to own. but three yeras and counting as friends on the verge of nothing. it's a lot to swallow when what you're thinking is so different. it's a lot to get used to when you had so many better plans.

i know. i always have that it could never. even if you chose to. i know it could not. i've not forgotten who i am, but for a few brief moments lost in your hands.

it's just easier to say to the words than to myself or you. it's just something i hesitate to admit. knowing that would only give it more diominance.

whatever we are. were or might yet. it doesn't matter much. since i already know it. whatever you seek i know i am not it. and in truth, i know i shouldn't be. regardless of what i might want.