Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 12, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

6-12-05 sunday 1pm

hours move the earth. driven to. and in turn the earth moves us.

nylon eyes. sheer and delicate. torn by the slightest bit of stress.

still you wear them. even with all those defects.

because they make you prettier.

it makes you look beautiful when you wear your weakness.

06-12-05 9:37pm sunday

dark room. fingers glow. time traces my thoughts through its onion skin. sticky brittle mimic of.

silence whispers. music shouts. memory echoes relentless in the wasteland that's become.

nourished only by stale nights and soured love.

greeting the demon. i shake its claw. ignoring the prick as my blood begins to fall.

laughing with the rhythm of the grunts. as my breathing lumbers on in its redundant pause.

laughing at myself because. there's little else to amuse me now.

dark room. glowing arms. as the tv burns its images into the back of my head. and the words shriek their silent alarm.

dark room. darker walls. everything within them falling apart.