Dark Poetry Prose Poetry August 6, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

08-06-05 saturday 11pm

the night wears denim lips. carefully doling out coy smiles and enchanted kisses. the water outside and the water in are the same. each fiercely rocks sparsely manned ships. as they attempt to navigate infinite oceans.

blue like the look of goodbye in a gaze. cold like that bed where they once.

just movies that end with a flourish of grief. and songs that don't know when to stop. word upon word. note after note begging for someone to listen. to know what they've said.

and still, it seems alone can never be undone. once it is what you've become.

8-06-05 saturday 11:10pm

what stalwart dreams dare beguile such adamant frowns.

i'd dunk my head under and try. try so hard to keep it down. but my body would inevitably rebel against my mind. fractured mold of a person. once desirous of filling in. now only hoping to be broken. broken enough that no one can ever reassemble what pieces.

the world is my axis. and i turn about it. spinning until all is a blur. and only then can i close my eyes and not have to feel all those tiny millions of details that life will impose.

i won't live. even if you force me. i'll reject it. and i won't ever love again.

what i want can't be found in people. what i want. what i've always wanted must come from within. and when it does come i will lay down beside it and make certain i never wake up from.

08-06-05 saturday 11:28pm

pleasure rife with disappointment.

all my life i've gone from one addiction to the next.

when i was young it was food. no age limit on that.

then it morphed into people. him, her, him, her, it.

now it is. well, i know what it is. don't need to say. don't want to. because there is nothing inside of me that can see a cure or any reason to seek it.

what pleasures there are to be extracted from life are easily acknowledged. but are they any more real than that which i use. maybe even less. frail caretakers to their own needs. how are they to tend to mine. or i to theirs. never knowing anything for certain about eachother except that we are both lacking something to have been together.

we're just a farce of our selves after all this while. i love you. i hate you. want me. need me. give me space.

just big ideas trapped in tiny brains. addicts everywhere. addicted to all sorts of pleasures and pains.

moments that promise more than they could ever deliver. and lives so vacant they keep on waiting.

there's not reason to live. no reason to die. it's merely a choice we make.

when there's nothing that you want anymore. it's easy to decide.