Dark Poetry Prose Poetry April 27, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

04-27-05 wednesday 8:50pm

ink exposed. trapped between layers of skin. fading pictures of a youth that once saw the humor in.

drawings tucked just under the first few blankets of your resolve. proving all the colors that converge in white. stacking bad memories like a skyscraper and then jumping from the roof.

because the wrecking ball is poised.

and the ground isn't as hard as it looks from up on high. or maybe it's me that gets softer if.

the ground's always pulled me toward it. that fiend, gravity testing my balance. the ground bites down when you get near. takes big chunks out of my flesh and spits them back up in my face as we near the big kiss.

souls are graceful, but hearts are clumsy. especially when running down hill.

04-27-05 9:26pm wednesday

cellular is the mind. airborne particles travel and scope. the day foreshadows what will become night. in quixotic soliloquies of longing and desire.

honing blades made of silence. hopelessness be my whetstone.

so much friction.

sharp as the pain has ever been. it makes its cuts without a sound. it makes its cuts even before it touches that waiting skin.

i'm not ready to die. and i'm not willing to live. pale companion to my heart as it beats its aimless rhythm.

cold lover in my bed. as it opens its legs wide to let me in.

i feel nothing.

i push and and push and twist. while pretentiously it moans beeneath me.

and i feel nothing.

except the cold cavern i have burrowed in. life lays beneath me as i penetrate as deep as she'll let.

but still i feel nothing.

and she feels even less.

4-27-05 wednesday 10L42pm

and then the people that want you, you just don't care.

because you've dealt with all that doubt. and found it to be less than advertised.

and then you reel yourself in. flailing on the hook. and wonder from where under water that oxygen could've come. never realizing that the from very first time that you breathed it, it had already become an addiction.

but that is the flaw in everyone. in every life form. change alters us, not us it. until we're so different that we don't remember who we were.

and does it even matter.

there are no babies left to be had. no apples left to lust. memories are all your're left with as you struggle with the sanctity of your sheep. unherded, but not without their shepherd.

i see myself and am appalled. how ugly ugly can be. when you look close enough.

but they'll never see. because i wont allow. they'll never know who or why i am.

dorian grey without a portarit. withering and obvious.

there's no motive. only quest. how arched are the hairs on.

how exposed is the back of my neck.