Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 18, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

6-18-05 saturday 1:35pm

no time left to ponder. to ready my head. it is now. or else it is truly never. no lines to balance my words. no keyboard on which to rest my arms. song is the only constant. song and bloated self-critiquing. heart masturbating to the memories. chafing itself raw. now without the easy lubrication of thought kneading inebriants.

hand written letters to the self. in type tinier than on the computer. will i be able to read any of this later. when i need it again. when another friend has been expelled from my life. alcohol.

they say you can't buy love. but they fail to mention that you can easily purchase the means to cope with the lack thereof. or that the payment for doesn't end with the cash register transaction.

some people should never be allowed to purchase anything even remotely addictive. especially depressives. depressives with obsessive personalities. like me.

writing by hand is slow. causes my thoughts to slow down. if my thoughts are a racecar. my pen is a semi-truck they're stuck behind on what otherwise could be the perfect highway for opening up the engine wide.

that must be why they call it gasoline.

6-18-05 saturday 2pm

words. sentences. pacing shadows under the skin. previous evening. stupefying.

caught my breath. now what do i do with it. set it free again?

uncooperative pen. doesn't want to write such small letters.

doesn't appreciate having its label displayed upside down.

too many things inbetween the lines. because i've always thought they were too far apart. way too much space between this one and the next.

fill them in. cover them over. ignore them completely sometimes.

there are no lines in a computer document. or a blog window. no ink. just text. icons of thoughts. not really letters at all. glyphs seems more accurate.

no blackened pinkie finger to signify the effort. just dirty keys on the board. and broken images on the screen. yearning for.

6-18-05 saturday 2:30pm

twelve steps more. or is it hours. ours? just twenty four.
one more cigarette. one more beer. or maybe more.
round and round she goes. where she stops. ceiling, walls or floor?

til 2:30. then no further. til next time.

13 days after. forty before. nothing came prior to. nothing will follow.
only when. and how. when til. how much.

32. that seems fair. because 31 is too soon. 33 too far.

just one more.

6-18-05 3:15pm saturday

now comes the part where words get louder, but make less sense. when what you thought you could be against itself begins to protest.

when to get. when home to come.

and you leave what you feel tied up like a barking dog on the back steps.

leave it there. can't let it in.

06-18-05 10pm saturday

are you yesterday. are you anything. smoke in my lungs. fire between my lips.

am i feeling it or just giving in.

trying to swallow the river instead of learning how to swim.

no need for. no attempt. fingers resonate as the world heaves down on them.

just the eyes as they open wide. not to see, but to blur the world. and thoughts as i braid them. tying off the ends with a drag of defeat and a sip of courage.

so unlike the stories. castles made of constants. moats dug of ifs.

surrounded.

yet alone.

surrounded by the sound of my own breathing. taken hostage by it.

06-18-05 11:30pm saturday

often, but less so. as the leaves bloom in your head. time commands this flesh. like soldiers bred for a battle they don't undertsnad. a war that has meaning only to those who have designed it.

the bodies only symbols of their success.

it doesn't matter who lives or who dies. it only matters who wins.

expendable. obviously.

we're just people. and there are so damn many of us.

tear open the walls. expose the roaches. they're plentiful. rampant.

the females with their eggs dangling loosely about. the men with thieir ability to affect.

what's not over, i still see the end. like a bonfire on the open beach. as it consumes the wood meant to feed it. as it lavishes in its own extent.

only to die out eventually. because it wants more than it can give.

you'll never really know them until you do so well that you wish you didn't.

and by then. forgetting is no longer an option.

burn me. simply because you can.

you are the fire and i am the twig.

break me.

stoke the fire with.