Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 1, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-01-05 friday 9:51pm

the walls are lethargic, though the door is eager. flaccid words trying to have sex.

the mood is vague, ambivalent. but its portents are trenchant.

dubbing memories to suit your needs. everyone i suspect has tampered with the evidence. even at times when they were innocent. if such a time should ever exist.

the bed is warm, but the sheets are cold. cold as ever. the sleep is easy. gentle and soft. but the waking is so arrogant. loud-mouthed salesman trying to sell me on life again. working on commisision.

my thoughts are degenerative. they billow in dense clouds of smoke, but then quickly disperse into thousand of helpless, transparent wisps.

the floor is stern, yet kind. but the ceiling, it's so gullible. hung there like a shelter, but unable to provide.

life comes in gasps. my heart is asthmatic.

07-01-05 friday 11:40pm

cultivating earnest hours as they attempt to bear fruit. naked limbs outstretch to the light. wallowing in the lack of. the void to which.

irrigating unborn tears. the tide of life is a cycle of welcoming and letting go. the salt in your eyes. the pounding into the sand. it will knock you down. again and again. and still you'll want to touch it. to feel its domiinance.

what are we, if not, what we worship. some gods. some dead men. others just the feeling of. being crippled. crippled by that which compels me to to walk again.

poster child for i could've been. still you mock the concept. potential. what does that mean. what lies within all uncharted. how can they know where it leads?

child of obsession. mother to friction. of course i entice it. what else is there to do? sit back and wait for all those people to rub against. i'd rather just leave those marks where they are and save some room for some other impressions.

i'm not ready to submit to what i lack. to how easy it is to just take what you're given.

i'll never be ready to make those concessions.

i'd rather just have nothing.

than hang onto remnants.

it never ended, but it was always over.

because acceptance. giving in. is for those that need it.

i'd rather just leave them. and crawl back into myself.

i'd rather not want what it is i can never possess.