Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 10, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

06-10-05 friday 10:19pm

what you want. i cull it like extraneous branches. what you grow, not fertile at all. it won't reproduce. i'll die there in my heart.

i can't remember when it felt good to know you. and i want to. maybe, such an instance never occured.

weeds in the grass disguised as flowers. looking so much like. what's the difference.

i've never known. i never will. except that they grow much faster. and as often as you kill them, they just keep on coming back.

time now. still not enough, but it'll have to do. as the parchment fades into. page gone. pen mute. fingers tap. clumsily shadowing the hours that.

people look, but cannot see. so many curtains between.

i'm not dying, but i guess, i wish i was. cold furnace in this endless winter unable to produce any heat.

it's not essential, but it certainly would help. a pilot light. something to take all that is combustible away from itself.

there's nothing left to grieve. yet everything to mourn. this funeral that just won't end.

this coffin in which i'm caught.

lined in satin, like death must be. polished wood and shiny brass.

there, trapped in that tiny space, you feel so buried long before you actually are.

but this is where you belong. in the hole you've always been digging.

just close your eyes and pretend you're falling asleep.