Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 18, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

sunday 07-18-04 10:40pm

wake up or go back to bed. it's always your choice. love life or hate it. there's only a fine difference between.

just sit. let the music contemplate. while the tv drenches your mind. just hug that escape like it's your only friend. because in truth, it really is.

i don't know what to write anymore. or how. or why. but it's such a habit. such a crutch. i can't let myself give it up.

i don't care what i feel. don't care to reiterate. but days are long. and nights longer still. no matter the season. it's always the same.

there's no one left to want. nothing left to wish that. there's just a lot of bottle caps and no more glue to hold them. there's just a lot of nights i wish never happened. and so many yet to come that i don't want.

if there's never another picture. never another rhyme. i wouldn't really miss any of them. not the words. not the images. just the people that caused them. just how it felt to be a part of someone other than myself. just how good it felt. to have something to look forward to besides. beside all these nights like this. not ever that there was a future, but that now was more than enough. not that any of it really mattered, but that it didn't always have to hurt.