Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 17, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

07-17-04 saturday 9:13pm

lilac nights against the skins of waning summer's last few sunsets. who am i now. who was i then. i couldn't really define either or. i've always tended to just let things happen. worry about it after the fact.

waiting like. waiting like the misty eyes of autumn as they gaze out at the stage from behind the curtain of summer loves.

try as you may. try as you must. the ocean might be full of water but it can't quench your thrist. you can choose to love if you want, but you won't be chosen.

sipping memory in cold expanse. watching life like cataracts. all signs indicate that i'm alive. but this feels so very much like dying.

memory boils and bubbles up. and i am scalded. the hours slowly discharge as from wounds will pus. and all the ways i use to heal only seem to further infect.