Dark Poetry Prose Poetry May 11, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

5-11-04 tuesday 6:45am

i'm getting worse, but what to get better for. i'm getting worse, but in my case, getting worse is the only cure.

i stare. not even at the walls. my eyes look out, but i see nothing at all.

heaven takes you in, just to tease you and then spits you out again. heaven lets you taste it. just so that you'll be haunted by the memory when. it spits you out and throws you back down to earth again.

5-11-04 8:30am tuesday

i don't have friends. i have people that i talk to. emails and instant messages. ringing phones now and then.

i don't make love. i have sex. empty kisses and strangers in my bed.

5-11-04 8:35am tuesday

if i remember,
i don't really remember,
just a flower in my head
giving off its tangy cologne;

i can smell its presense,
but know not from where
it does grow.

05-11-04 tuesday 9:55pm

how old are you now? younger than yesterday because you've gained. or older than you should be because you've lost something. just sleep amd none of that will matter. because in sleep life is exactly how you dream it. whatever you most desire can happen. it's like life only so much better. because instead of praying to false gods, you are.

i thought for a moment that i could be happy like this. with how it had to change. with how i'd been changed by it. i told myself, it's not that different, but i'm a liar. cuz it is. i promised myself i'd be fine, but then i broke it.

i almost wish that you could be reading these words again. drinking them down like sweet frothing beverages. that you cared about them as much as you did when. when they were about how much i wanted you. or even just the hint of your presense.

but what seduction is there in reading about what i'm writing now. love letter's to death. and discertations on habit. it's not what you say or to whom. it's only what it means to them. it might all be about yourself, but they only see how it relates to them. and well, if it doesn't, then why hell would they waste their time with it.

all day i was thinking that may 11th means something to me, but i couldn't figure out why. still haven't. but it still sounds eerie in my head. may 11th. i know may's never been a good month for me. maybe that's the day i first tried to escape and i don't really, but still sorta remember it.

they'll tell you life is a cycle, but they're lying. whoever they are. that ominous them that populates common wisdom. without a face. without any accountability, it somehow decides what is normal and what isn't. why. i guess, just because we let it.

but life isn't a cycle. not at all as far as i know. not linear either. no. it's a wormhole. you can use it to get fruther than you''ve ever been faster than you can imagine or you can submit to it. and float aimlessly for all eternity in its darkness. it gives us those two options. and all it asks is that we choose which.

you told me to keep on you. to keep you motivated. but i hardly think that's within my means. i wonder why you didn't give it to me to do the most of it. i wasn't going to ask for anything in exchange. all i wanted was your success. i'm certain you'll manage fine regardless. that you don't need my help since you've managed all these years without it. idunno. should i press you onward or just forget it.

remind me of the rest of life. and i want to fall away. pretend i never existed. life is hard for everyone in their own perspective. can't you see that. isn't it obvious? it's not life that's hard. it's how we feel about it.