Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 4, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

07-04-04 sunday 10:56am

deafened heart. memory stricken blind. offer me no songs. they fade out much too fast. paint me no pictures. the colors always change.

no more words. not anymore. words like fraying ropes drop me as i try to climb.

give me something genuine. a tactile experience. or else give me nothing. touch is the only of my senses i still can trust.

i'll no longer listen. no more look. just hold out my hand and count how many raindrops it catches.

07-04-04 9:44pm sunday

i woke up from a dream only to later realize that i hadn't really. i stood by those people as if they had earned my loyalty. even though they never had. then i'd ask myself why. and the only answer i could give myself was that even if you can't trust in them, better evenso to know that you've been everything and more that of them you ever expected. even if you didn't get. at least, at least the only thing you've to be ashamed of is having tried to be a friend. in terms of mistakes that's the only sort i can be satisfied having made.

i don't understand the compulsion people have to say they're friends. clinging to every faint whisper of non-hate. like they see the world in black and white. pick a side. either friends or enemies. like they're colorblind. can't distinguish all the many shades just one color has. and in my mind it diminishes the whole concept. takes the word and makes it's meaningless. what good is it? what good is it if it really means nothing.

it seems to be nothing more than fireworks. a bright explosion. a loud bang. and then the sparks fall like rain. disappearing into the darkness which once was their stage.

i don't understand why they'd say, only to have it mean nothing really. just non hate. just nothing at all. like some cruel euphamism for i don't love you anymore. never really did.

07-04-04 sunday 10pm

the hours. so they say. are what comprise all those lifetimes that we ache. the hours. so i've been told. are the foundation for the all months. and all the years that create these people we portray.

the hours. they multiply. while sereptitiously we continue to divide. a kiss. a tear. and then. memory. memory so malign.

for as much as i had wanted to believe, it wasn't to be. there was nothing i could trust in. not you. not him. not any one of them. for all the dreams a heart can have. those happy endings still make me laugh.

to trust your life to someone else. to put your future in someone else's hands. if there were nothing else to stop me, still that would have.

the world's both a beautiful and a very ugly place. not on its own. but because of hte people that populate.

someday maybe i'll find some place to go where it's more like home and less like begging.

someday maybe when i'm dead, those words they flaunt will come back to them. and everything they were meant to mean will be just as it ought. and all that they said, but never had for me won't matter because.