Dark Poetry Prose Poetry April 10, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

4-10-03 thursday 9:40pm brick NJ

you know how when it hurts so much you can't even. all the words you've gathered in place of the friends you'll never have. all the ways you've found to make it seem better somehow. some times. at some point it hurts too much even to trust them. at some point. one drop of pain too much. and all that i could say. all that i could wite. it's all useless. always has been. and this life just never was. just never could be. and the word love seems a cruel facade against the backdrop of who i am. how i could never be.

they wonder why i wait to die, but they've never been me. they scoff at how i take too much poetic license, but they don't know how it feels. if they did, they would've surely given in long before me.

if i can't write, then what am i to do? if the pages will not be my friend, then i am more alone than even i suspected.

they wonder at how i wait to die. they scoff at my words much to real. but they've never been me. for surely if they ever had they would've given in long before this verse. they think that i exaggerate the hurt. but they don't know. they've never been. i hope they never are. in my place, i'm sure they would've given in long ago. if ever in my place, i'm certain they never would have lasted.

hurts too much to write. hurts even more to listen. the shadow of life still looming in my head. i stare at wonder at what i could've been. i gaze and ponder how this. you don't know the feeling when it hurts so much that. every word betrays. you don't know the aloneness when every vesre shoves it back in your face.

they laugh at how i wait to die. make it a melodrama when it isn't. they don't know. i hope they never do. they think it strange. they don't understand it. and how could they. why should they have to?