Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 6, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-06-05 wednesday 10:11pm

i don't know. don't want to. how the hours measure the breadth of my life. how the years tally the score i don't care who wins.

perched upon a slender stalk of days long gone. the butterfly sits imagining the next catastrophe its tiny wings will induce.

don't keep adding air to this tire slashed. it will only waste it. eventually cause you to crash.

living is only attrition. losing. at its core. every breath you take stolen from the list of those that are still yours.

feed me full of whatever you are. i will swallow. choke it down. whether it is sweet or sour.

but there is only room in this life for tasting.

there is no way to keep it down.

07-06-05 wednesday 10:51pm

warm. like lips are when. you spread them wide to fill shadows with. whatever of yourself they'll take in.

treasures of the flesh are barely buried. but others are fathoms deep. unmolested. unnamed. pennies at the bottom of a well. full of wishes untold.

depths nothing human's ever been to. or ever will i suspect. only a collection of feeble markers lay in the graveyard at the bottom of your consciousness.

unknown, but not forgotten.

cold like it always is. pages will turn, but not retain those fingerprints.

because nothing is real now, in this world we've made. words. images. feigning depth.

cauterized memories struggling to restrain the moments that are always pushing against the closures we pretend.

warm is the hint of holding as it transpires to become. dew forming on wilting hearts. as morning beckons. it wants to burst open. scream its colors to the world.

still it remains closed.

lost in the distance between what ir is now and what it could become.