Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 17, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-17-05 sunday 12am

how do i know you. then that i did. myself just a blurry reflection as you'd look in my direction with eyes made of questions.

and to leave it behind as i do. leaky faucet down a drain to where it leads i don't know.

wherever it goes. that's not where i am.

i don't want to do this to anyone. repeating what's been done to me. but i lose myself in the pattern of caring for only what happens to myself.

lost in the threads of a blanket so thick i can't feel anything else when i'm under it.

seems i've learned too well. how not to listen. how to hear only what i wanted.

all the words i can write. all the moments i can capture. like an old camera, i can take pictures, but can't make the film develop.

it's not what i want. it's just what i've become.

there's nothing to save me now. nothing to save me from.

all that i am. is all that destroys me.

if you take me away from that. i'm not me. just someone who looks like, but could never hope to be.

if you fix me now, it would only just be pieces of the mirror pasted together. cracked reflections of what once waa whole.

if you feed me tomorrw i'm sure to vomit. if you offer me yesterday i simply won't swallow.

everything has it's own cycle. long or short as it might be.

i only wanted to know you. never expected you'd want to know me.

07-17-05 sunday 10pm

though the skin is weak, the heart is resilient. it bends, but never really breaks.

though life can become idle, the spirit is always restless.

pacing the dark repertoire of stageless loves and dreams without dialogue.

though love betrays at every turn, we never stop loving.

there is no value we shall place upon it. no need.

it speaks only in words never spoken. it hears what is never said.

and what we cannot taste, most of all we cherish.

abyssmal oceans grant only brief reprieve from the inferno of desire. the volcano erupts. the lava swims. not to drown us. not to steal this flesh. but to free us of it.

though happiness unravels at the slightest tug, we are resilient. we gather those threads. and begin to making our amends.

07-17-05 sunday 11:30pm

they talk to me when i don't listen. listen whe i cannot speak. the morbid eyes of days withour dominion floating like dead bodies on the surface of gently lapping grief.

they smear like just written words do as my hand sweeps across the page. pushing that dust from one end to the other with an autistic gaze.

i can't learn. can't get used to the fact.

spare your salavation for beating hearts and eager flesh.

though this ocean is deep, i can go deeper yet.

i don't need to breathe. only just to be surrounded by what causes me to want to find the surface again.

they listen as the words falter off into paths beyond the forest's dense imagine. they speak as moments do. summers ferocious with lusts untold . insides boiling. the taste of how well you almost knew. curdling now like milk gone sour. as it sits there hopelessly waiting to be consumed.

and i wonder, as though i will, how could it have ever been. how can it be so still.

that though my heart longs nothing now, yet still it looks for you.

running rivers blatant. washing itself in years ago. the bleary eyes of love that has not slept since the last time that you shared its bed.

awake it still dreams of when. when sense could once be extracted from acts so senseless.

and nothing matters except how we felt when.

rememebreing has never served any purpose other than to open those wounds that have yielded scabs.

though time forfiets us now, i cannot.

the poet in me so demands. that should the end have come long ago, still the beginning must remember how.

though love will never love me, i will always love her.

though we lose each other, i must believe in some way we have been found.