Dark Poetry Prose Poetry May 22, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

05-22-04 saturday 11am

they're people. i don't like them by default. so human and infatuated with their own reflection. just like i am. but instead of ashamed. they are proud.

promiscuous verses. spread their thighs for every stranger. suck and spit. bend and moan. no pleasure. only yearning. to pause the bleeding. to fill the hole.

05-22-04 saturday 9pm

alienated again. think i always have been. the only of my species. no one speaks my language. i thought it was only the phases of youth, but it turns out that just wasn't true.

there's lonely and then there's alone. lonely means you've known love. and that you'll know it again. that you're just suffering a little as the price of your happiness.

but alone is different. alone means no hope. that you never have. you never can. that you're different. always have been. that you don't belong. you never can.

people are flowers. i am a cactus. they open up to greet the sunshine. they flourish like colorful music throughout gardens. bright colors and savory scents. people are flowers. i am a cactus. flowers die easy. i must die hard. flowers can be given. taken. and touched. but a cactus stands alone in its parched landscape. never meant to be felt. never meant to be held. it may wish it, but it just isn't to be. it might weep in the darkness when no one is around. silently crying its dry tears.

people are flowers. blooming day after day. pretty colors and eager stamens vying to procreate. but where does the cactus come form. how it does grow. so solitairy. the thorns that keep it protected are the thorns that keep it alone.

05-22-04 saturday 9:53pm

write myself. but can't right myself. swim that pool of false happiness. and go under. holding my breath. opening my eyes to the sting of beneath the surface. get used to it. just like letting go. it doesn't get easier to do. just easier to conceal how hard it is.

just as the weekends grow longer, somehow they feel shorter than ever. it's never enough. there's never enough time to sit idle lke this. stuck in fly paper. afraid to pull away and leave my limbs there behind me stuck in that sticky mess. starve stuck in that spot or pull away and tear yourself apart. what fine choices life does give.

i just want to be dead. to never feel how i want you again. crawl into that waiting grave and close the lid. as if life never happened. as if love never pretended. i don't understand why it lied to me when i never lied to it. i don't understand why it went out of its way to hurt mel like it did.

life seems just a long process of letting go again. sparse moments to covet. and so much time dedicated to letting go of them. i never really believed that's all there was. not until i paused to take a count. and found that these so many years were comprised of little else except. a few seconds of happiness and then. so many nights spent watching it leave. learning to let it.

you told me once how you believed someday i would find lasting happiness. and i wanted so much to believe it. as much as you did. i wanted nothing more than to believe as certainly as you did. but the gifted tend to believe that everyone is. they just don't understand how any life can be left with less than.

i loved you once. in truth i still do. it'll be quite a long time coming before i can say it without not understanding how. how it happened and still never did. like waking up from a dream so vivid. the mind does decieve the heart so often. it should come as no surprise, but damn, it always is.

05-22-04 saturday 10pm

i'm blood. that which you bleed, but translucent. clear and smooth like movies. their pretentious happy endings. i'm dead. a eulogy on your doorstep. starving for a stone to hold. but no such luck. no one knows.

every minute slices my tongue. the poet's and the person's.

i wanted you so much. but you always knew. i wanted death much more. i wanted you more than i've ever wanted. but it became apparent that your love was only human. and i couldn't imagine feeling anything less than i did.

it hurt. like ripping off a bandage. half healed wound again exposed. i know what you meant. but there were so many other reasons.

i know just why we did. but it was so perfect. it's been so hard to get over it. still waiting. still sitting quietly in the darkness. wondering when, if ever, daath will want to know me again.

just the eyes of a tiger stalking hungry. there's so much to know. and i don't want to know any of it. there's just so much to love, but no reason now.