Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 8, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

07-08-04 8:02am thursday

you want to know how to really die. just live and you wiill find. just live. every day is death. embrace it and you will find your exit.

when i was younger my mother told me you can't know you want to die yet. you've barely had the time to live. well, i'm older now. a lot older now. so let the dying begin.

living is just the coward's way to die. i know cuz that's what i've been doing.

a bottle of xanax and some wine when you're fourteen sounds like a plan. but these bodies don't listen to their own minds. you puke half of it up and just end up stoned and in the looney bin.

a motel and some razor blades when you're nineteen seems to be the perfect escape. but i guess they weren't sharp enough. or i was too sober. cuz i tried for a while but just couldn't open those veins. weird. cuz when i look at my wrist they seem so close. so naked. but when you're nineteen and sober they're awfully far away.

07-08-04 thursday 10:33pm

there's something left even when there's nothing you think. some speck of a flint looking to spark. one last droplet of ink that page has been craving. give it away. put it there and concede. this is all i am. all i'll ever be. stories without a book to hold them. rhymes without a melody.

it's been so quiet lately. not that it always isn't but it's different now. there's that silence you believe to only be a pause. that they'll return again brighter than before. and then there's this. and how you know in your heart it's not temporary. they're gone again. cause you have absolutely nothing they could want that they haven't already taken.

a midas touch won't ever make you rich. it only just makes all those soft things hard. and strips all the feeling from them. a couple beers won't do any harm. it'll just miter those corners. so they're not so sharp. and a little sex mixed in with a lot of lies won't keep you from feeling lonely when, but it's not a bad way to spend a night.

all those conversatons lay in their graves now. though you never saw fit to bury them. their ghosts linger as you sit. sit wondering just what's happened. how you tried as much as you did, but still are left with nothing to show for it.

there's always something left even when you want to get rid of all of it. you throw it away bit by bit. one memory at a time you whittle it down from tree trunks into toothpicks. then you look at the shavings that lay on the ground and can't even begin to throw them out.

i've just decided i don't want anything. not love. not friendship. not all those human weaknesses. i've just decided it's too much a loss and not near enough of a gain. i sit here every night and try to understand. why they offered it only to take it all away. i sit here every night wondering why they'd take and not give. knowing just how little leeway this life had. i don't understand. don't want to. whatever the reasons that couldn't change how it really is.