Dark Poetry Prose Poetry May 8, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

5-08-04 saturday 5:21pm

i'll go back and read the passed few days. i seldom have any memory of what i've written. so i go back and read those forgotten confessions. and every word surprises me. i wonder where they came from and why. i don't know why they say any of what they do. except one thing. except wanting to die.

i used to write on paper. but i had to move to the keyboard. because my handwriting could never keep up with my thoughts. and if i tried it was extremely hard to read.

you say you don't understand why i unplug the phone. is that to say you don't understand someone wanting sometimes to be alone?

sometimes i'll call people knowing they won't answer or won't be home. just to hear the ringing. just to assure myself that i am alone.

did you ever consider the possibility that those conversations we have often leave me feeling more alone that before they began? that i've watched it fade away like a movie coming to a close. then i sat there watching the credits roll while everyone else left the theater. sat there paralyzed by the fact that it was actually over.

those long talks at night do no good for me. i just drink more than i normally would and lose myself in the listening. it's my fault that i do. but i don't think i can react in any other way. to people. to phone friends. to how they don't allay the isolation, they emphasize it instead. when left alone for too long, sometimes i don't like it, but in truth, i'm probably better off. well, not better really, but less aware of just how lost.

6pm 5-8-04 saturday

girtty, beer soaked conversations
make me feel just like a buoy
that's tied to the ocean;

can't drown,
can't swim away;
just float there surrounded
by nothing but the waves.

05-08-04 8:13pm

sometimes knowing that the phone can't ring prevents me from waiting for it to. sometimes friends only make me feel that much more lonely. they might've meant well, but. sometimes alone is really what i choose to be. cause sometimes it's less lonesome like this than sitting on the edge of happiness's grave. especially since, i knew it would die. especially since, i helped to kill it.

if i can't find it in myself to be poetic. to paint any pictures with these words. if i can't muster the strength to just let it. if i have to go off by myself and just let it hurt. i don't know if i am lost. or just afraid that i've been found. i don't know if i ever want to come back. or how if i didn't that might be different from now.

they always call me sweetie. every one of them. as if i actually am. no. just timid. and sad. just apt to concede rather than. they call me sweetie and i wonder is it just me or everyone. i wonder should i take it as a compliment or should i feel slighted. what is sweetness. what is its opposite. what is sweet, but a shallow taste on your tongue. chocolate indulgences and airy confections. what is sweet, but a tasty treat. something you consume for the pleasure it contains. is that what i am. sweet?

9:05pm 5-08-04 saturday

i've been writing this same long note all my life. a rambling goodbye. a drawn out, cowardly suicide.

and the people i encounter along the way. they could very well matter, but i can't change.

i've been extracting happiness from any sources i could find. knowing full well, that it can only come from inside.

but i'll never feel that. never know what it's like. so can you blame me for taking it from whatever sources could supply.

i've been listening to you all this while, though i'm not sure why. why you expect i should always answer your calls, but i can't ring at all.

maybe you think you're there. maybe that's the most you can offer. you know, i don't think that how much even really matters. i'll be just the same regardless. what you once added to my life, is dwindling. crappy conversations on business. your annoyance at how i don't answer seems so very unfair. when you consider how. how you're only there when you decide. i've been here before. maybe. i guess i must instigate such situations. cuz i've been here before. i know every corner. every passage. out and in. been here before. you're not that different.

9:19pm 05-08-04 saturday

arcing like the path of a dream through your mind as your body forgets itself. slithering like love. a snake through your veins. with forked tongue. and fangs dripping with venom.

if friends are genuine, then maybe it's me who isn't. if love depends upon trust, i'm certain never to know it.

i can keep writing as if. as if, that could teach me somehow to be better than i am right now. but i've been writing more than half my life and everything i've learned from it has only made me wish i hadn't. only convinced me that those little bits of better life gives, only serve to make it still worse yet.

nothing's ever begun. or ended. just grey clouds in your heart rumbling. all bloated with those things you've never said. all those thoughts you submit to these pages. that this place is the only you can let really be your friend. this tired contemplation. this anguished revery. that even if it were real, you couldn't trust. couldn't speak at all. you can only listen. and make snide comments. while you quietly wait to die.

10:35pm 05-08-04 saturday

i had this conversation with my brother. about the trivial things in life that tend to matter more than the big ones. about how life changes. and phones go silent. when all your friends get married, but you don't. and they haven't forgotten you, but they can't really be there anymore.

and women. and attraction. and how it chooses us. and we merely submit. that it's not people's good qualities, but what we hate about them that causes us to love them.

how phones can ring or not. how that is of so little consequence. cause what matters most are the people who don't have to ring. those that can just show up. and those that were already there.

he'll always be my brother when all those friends are gone. and just like them. i can listen. just don't speak. ask questions. just can't answer them.

what do you know about anything outside your little world. your jeeps and guns and marriages of convenience. what do you know of how i feel or why. do you know why the ant bites or why the bee stings. do you understand why the moth kisses the flame. or why crickets sing.

i'm tired of hearing about how i ought to pick up when. how my phone ought to be ringing. when in return do i get that same advantage.

i haven't forgotten the good things you've meant to me. but those were in the past. now all we're left with is those drunken conversations. and that anger of yours when i'm not there.

you've no idea. you think i'm weak. but i'm stronger than you could ever hope to be. cause i go through the motions. do what is needed even though. it's the last thing i'd choose, but i still have to. so i do.

i don't know what you need from me anymore. so i'll ask. what is it? that doesn't mean i have it to give. i can't give it all away again just to get nothing for it.

maybe you think you've done more than enough, but in my eyes you haven't done much. so you press the right memory button on your phone and ask a few questions. talk and even sometimes listen. maybe too much draw things out of me when i'm weaker, that i'd rather you hadn't. so you think that's intimacy. if you know about me. if you can call when you want. and i just spill it because i like to drink. because i stay up too late and don't know how to hang up.

well, i don't know, the right way to be intimate. or exactly what a good friend is. cause i've never had such an experience. but i know how i feel. and right now i feel this isn't it.

05-08-04 11:14pm saturday

it's just the same as breathing only without a reason for it. lungs expand and contract, but they don't tell you why they have.

even you whom i thought not, are just as selfish. you want me there when you call. get annoyed if i'm not.

well, i've seen most sides of love, and i think i've decided that i don't like it. that they can keep their babies and their husbands. i'd rather just.

they can keep their love. and their so called friends. i'd rather just. rather just be honest. and admit that i have nothing. evenmore, that there's nothing that i want.