Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 21, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

3-21-03 friday 10:13pm brick NJ

waiting to die - it takes so long sometimes. looking at the love i feel reflecting from you - against me.

there are too many days. too many reasons to wonder why. too many ways to die but never enough excuses.

i know that it will be a while til you'll want to know me again. i know that aside from the advantages we find in one another there's little else to cover the cost of opening up your heart.

i guess i like falling in love over and over with you. every time that i get near the exit i run back inside again. i guess i like falling in love - hitting that hard ground over and over again when there's no one there to catch me.

i guess i don't really know anything about friends or lovers or even enemies. because some nights i see nothing in you and others all of these things. i guess i never really could love like i supposed to. like real people do. cuz i'm not real. i'm just this life's tired excuse.

i could say that my love is pure. that i don't want yours as much as i want you to find your own. i guess i could say that and really believe it. all my life in this place - if you even could offer me something better i don't think that i could accept the invitation. if you even would offer the chance i'd probably never take.

waiting to die - why does it take so long? waiting not to love again. it comes and goes like a tide tasting the ocean. i do and i don't. some nights are easy. others think too much. some nights are empty and some become bloated with the recollections of when it all seemed possible. when i was fooled. i really was fooled. i really believed you when you said i love you. and i can't seem to forget how real it seemed then. i can't seem to understand how you could've said it if it wasn't. but i suppose bigger lies have been told. i guess that greater deceptions have been perpetrated. i'm no better than. i can't be in your head. i can't know. i don't understand where in your life i start and where i end. or if i am even a presense.

i'm just so good at loving when it doesn't love me back. i'm just so damn good at wanting when i am not wanted. six months from the last time perhaps we'll meet again. indulge the pleasures we're too lazy too seek in othere. it isn't much of a life, but it's something to keep when all other prospects have give up on us. it isn't a reason to live nor a reason to die. i don't need you for any of them. they've alway beeny my closest friend. i'm crazy. you must know it by now. i'm waiting to die. you must have long since realized it. how can i claim to love you when i can't even promise ill let tomorrow take me there. how can expect you to need when i don't even need me.

i guess it's just what i do. digging graves for the many ways i'll bury what i almost, but could never do. i guess that love is what i write, not really what i can receive or give. i suppose that it never started so therefore it can never end. we skate on the surface of a scarcely frozen friendship. we reunite when the years request. i thnk that it's still better than anyone else more often, but i still feel it's less than our best, it's the best i've ever kown. call it love. call it obsession. call it neccessity. call it wen the urge tugs on you. just call it enough that it can still remember your vpoce the next time that you decide to call again.

it's not over. it hasn't even begun. it's not something hearts can define. it's not the sort of song just anyone can sing it had to be you. it is. i try to listen. i try to find the notes that you keep hidden. i know sometimes alone you play them. i just don't know why you won't allow me to hear them. i know we're not what we need. that what we give is so different from what we expected. but i still feel like there's some page we've left empty. like there are still chapter to be written. that this isn't all we are. that if we've managed this far, then there must be a good reason. that if all these yeras are still willing to entertain us, they must know something special about us that we've yet to find.