Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 17, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

8:17am 03-17-04 wednesday

i'm blank like one of my own pages. when i couldn't express.

like when being so drunk the conversations become separate entities from the people who started them. they burst out of our minds and danced wildly beside us as we tried to remember just how many sips we'd taken.

i'm saturated. covered in the fact that little's changing. ever does. like the faces we cling to even when we can't remember them. silhouettes of happiness make everything else around them appear darker yet.

i'm morning. its captive. small life rages against the larger concepts.

i'm snow. driven in all directions by an unseen wind. a facless directive. untouchable, but felt so pointedly. ungrabable, yet so much in its grip.

9:01pm 03-17-04 wednesday

angle my thoughts 30 degrees. sloping doward toward a bottom i need to reach. and also upward toward an apex i've yet to imagine.

animate my silence. in rapid particle explosions. supernovas of thought creating blackholes in my heart. the unyielding tug of emotion's mass gravity pulls it toward. pulls it into its own vacuum and it consumes itself from the outside in.

float my sadness. fill it with solitude's unweighted helium. orbitting myself like a satellite caught in its steady pull. i am my own moon. always following from far above. pulled by its rotation and yet drawn to. caught in its gravity and yet always kept at a distance.

wish me well. for that is all i wish of you. wish for a starry night so that i might find myself anew.

chasing time with a cocked and loaded mind. aiming. afraid to fire on an enemy i so dearly love.

feeding the parasite. life. engorging it with my own blood. it swells. it's fed, but its hunger is relentless. the vein is open. the source exposed. ample as both victim and assassin. slice tomorrow's throat. can't let it live.

riding despair like a wild stallion. no reigns. no control. speed blurs my vision. it tries to throw me, but i keep my hold.

together we race through the landscape of days and nights already done. in galloping fits of rage i watch life happening in a fuzzy spectrum. no victors. i ride and am ridden by her.

10pm 03-17-04 wednesday

the hours twirl like
drumsticks between
my fingertips;
the momentum that moves them
eventually causes them to drop;

poems lie like
songs unsung,
impatient thoughts
yearm validation;

i am nothing,
a paused cd,
muted speakers,
once running thoughts
now with broken backs;

paralyzed. impotent.
breathing only serves
to make it that
much more obvious;

tonight is the crescendo
and tomorrow will be the end,
haunting, frantic orchestras
build their stairways to silence;

i am nothing,
save these sounds i emit,
when coaxed by stimuli
stronger than my habits;

spoiled emotions are
coddled by the rhymes,
they want. they need,
but cannot be supplied;

watch the thoughts spin
like the sticks between my fingers,
a rapid blur of rote movements
that ultimately will expire.

10:14pm 03-17-04 wednesday

lies can become true. i've seen it happen. just as readily as truth will admit it never meant what it implied. lies, like nights too prevalent. one cigarette quickly vanishes into the next. and suddenly what you thought was the finale turns out to be the curtain's rise. it's almost as if all the days prior never happened. it's almost like everything up til now was just a test. and all of sudden what happpens actually has relevance.

i could lie and say i'm happy. but i won't. i could blame someone, but i don't see the use. better still to just treat the night like a victim rather than an inquistor. cause it may try. it may attempt to remove my skin. but it can't unless i allow it.

i could stop, but maybe someone's reading. i could choose dfferent methods, but this one has been so loyal. better still to just treat the pages as i would myself. since we are one in the same. try to know what they are saying, but never let them back inside. since they are my escape.

i could stop, but only in theory. the words would still tear at my skin. the pages would still make their wrinkles. it's old now, but it will be new again. it's old now, but so much is.

it's only now repeating itself again and again. a twisted reverb of your saddest of moments. it's only now. that's all it's ever been. i can allow it to be me or i can choose to be it.

109pm 03-17-04 wednesday

am i allowed to want again. or shall i lay back and accept what's gone. wave to the moth as it grazes the flame and then shuns it. stare at the clouds as they slowly make their way across the sun.

am i allowed to ask again. or are those questions better kept. shall i leave the bottle to breathe out all its carbon and nevermore taste such effervescance. should i drink from the fountain or would it be better if my thirst went unquenched.