Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 16, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

06-16-05 thursday 9:29pm

sour storm gleaning just over the horizon. ample clouds to darken. always able to make me darker somehow. subtle traces of the girl. the deviant so in doubt.

moist with the summer's sweat. how the atmosphere perspires like an old man having sex. and it always feels so about to pop. just like when. holding it in. holding it in for as long as you can. biting down on the valve. pleasure backing up. contaminating me.

sewage in my veins. mud in my head. biting down. biting down on the valve. the pipe bursts open and i soak myself in that putrid shower.

ready to die. not knowing how. ready to let it all drain out. once and for all.

cruel as i am kind. full of venom, hesitant to bite.

thoughtless as i am thoughtful. a bucket full of holes. catching, yet always letting go.

it's dark, but i don't notice it anymore. i can see just the same. the yellow in the dandelion. the petals as they change.

it's possible, but hard to believe. waking up in the wrong bed every morning. not knowing if those dreams were real.

empty bottles sing. my breathing seems to enchant them. as i lean over the spout and feed myself to it.

it's you i'll hurt if you give me the chance. it's quite unfortunate. so i lay back. steady myself. but still, haven't the strength to stand.

i feed the notion with indefinites. even knowing that map is all too accurate. i keep recalculating the distance. keep checking if.

but that's the only road. and this is the only bridge across it.

06-16-05 thursday 10:27pm

words. and more then. scrolling from the lengthy texts in my head. words. that's all it ever is. frail bones trying to animate such heavy skins.

the sun at its peak looks down upon. with a wicked grin. yellow teeth biting down on the world beneath it.

then comes the moon. sweltering in its sauna of clouds. as they dance around it like a harem.

words can save me. or they can dig my grave. it's not their choice. it's mine. how i use them.

two choices. save myself or die not trying.

lucky are those who never have to decide.

words. my angel and my demon. words i write. or am written by. metaphors. similes. conjoining like twins. they need to be separated. but don't want to be.

friends i can't imagine. and lovers only villains or victims. in words it all falls to my perspective. in words it all makes sense. in some senseless way that only i can comprehend. dots in my mind that need to be connected.

night after night i ask myself to decide. will you live or will you die.

and i want to answer. but i can't make up my mind.

06-16-05 8:11pm thursday

at the beginning of the night it bubbles in a gentle stream. somewhere in the middle the rapids approach. and by the end the waterfall is tugging on my feet.

i gulp down a sigh in the contrary way i often do. holding it in. as i realize i'm just the child trapped in the dysfunctional marriage between my grief and my talents.

even if i could. if i had that potential. i'm afraid to get better.

and the lure of getting worse can be so pervasive.

even if i could. even if i had that kind of strength. i'm afraid to. to lose the poet. to become just another ordinary person.