Dark Poetry Prose Poetry April 22, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

hopeless as the last leaf in autumn when all the rest have already fallen

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your eyes slit these wrists and kill me so much better than i ever did

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knowing life is a scab, a crusty, bloody seal of a wound. and wanting so much to pick at.


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4-22-05 friday 9am

said the tiger to the lion -
behold my stripes;
my fur is patterned with
the map of my mind.

but the lion just laughed and
drew a claw to the sky;
behold my paw;
in invisible ink it writes.

your stripes may make
you a tiger, and not a lion;
but underneath the colors
we're both the same sober beast.

04-22-05 friday 9:22pm

patent skins. shiny touches. smooth incisions through their awkward slopes.

suede moments stained by. briefly touched by the water her eyes emote.

bearing the scars of such encounters. imperfection begs me. learn to be weaker if you can.

delicate petals ripped from their stem. smell me. the fragrance of loneliness. floating through dense sinew for bloated appendages.

rising toward and falling with. sinking into the heights of what remembers you when.

on pallid hands and wobbly knees. lurching forward at a yesterday you're certain has yet to come.

it ran through your heart like sand through an hourglass. callously counting down to the hour of your despair.

and when you turned yourself over, nothing changed.

again those grains began their fall through that slender path.

counting now, you know what not.

love endlessly recycling itself in the hope that.

04-22-05 friday 10pm

punching at the darkness. you can fight it. but you'll never win.

if there's a reason to my madness, it's still evolving. a thousand years from now, i'll know by then, what i'm trying to achieve.

a thousand more after that and its quest for fire will be complete.

kneading heartbeats. they spin like clay on a pottery wheel. dig your fingers into the soft solids and see what takes shape.

we're all spinning round. with our hands in the goo. watching the vase rise so tall, shakey and beautiful. right before it loses its grip on itself and pukes all over you.

lonelinesss rings your bell like some stranger peddling salvation. pamphlets in hand. saturday morning. there on your doorstep waiting. for you to answer the chime. house to house. sinner to sinner. but it's still night. and i don't need to be saved. maybe rescued. but i'm not sure.

can anyone actually save themselves. when they're drowning. when they're suffocating. can it actually be done.


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i feel so lost, especially when the sun shines, that it accentuates how dark, how dark is my life.