Dark Poetry Prose Poetry August 14, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

08-14-04 saturday 8:16pm

october skies in purple fits. they don't host the moon. it hosts them. and tears don't fall. they are suspended. given wings and taught to fly far away from. breezy, eager winds carry all those thoughts never acknowledged to untold recipients. shy and anonymous as they filter into the lives they were afraid to interrupt.

if chosen. if stumbled upon. awkward as waiting for a translation. and words misunderstood.

open skin married to closed eyes. in darkness. in that space between lovers and friends. something and yet nothing still. waking up while its still dark not knowing where you are. cause that beautiful dream is still stuck in your head.

and seeing it leave. so abrupt. from so much something to nothing but.

08-14-04 saturday 8:38pm

can a star falling be caught. is it ever not too late. the past can forget us. but we carry it inside the people that we've become. every moment changes us. from the most insignificant stranger to the greatest love.

can i love the night and hate it still. like some prison i'm afraid to leave. like all those people who said they were, but never tried to be.

the moonlight skates on blades too sharp. over thinly iced hearts that cannot support her weight. comets travel and constellations define. whilst you're sitting there with your head tilted back waiting for the sky to quake.

it rumbles quiet. and the clouds move slow. the night is hesitant to take off its clothes. but when she does she's enthusiatic about her nakedness. she's unashamed and willing to give anything a test.

so i pull her down to my lips close. and whisper. whisper to her what no one has ever known. what i barely know myself.

and i watch her undress and she deftly does. i watch her slither in her expousre like a camera lens unfocused. and i wonder. wonder how much she knows.

will i ever hear. and even if i could, would i know to listen then. will these bruises ever disappear. and even if they do, how much about them will this skin remember.

08-14-04 saturday 9:19pm

there are so many people i ought to be writing to, but i can't. try to tell the sun not to rise. there are all these people that i still don't understand why. and i guess that i ought to, but i don't. try to tell the night not to be dark. it'll just laugh and say that's what it is. you can't change me. so don't bother trying.

there are so many ways to bleed if that's what you want. and healing is so much slower than the cutting. loose bandages have little effect. and the pressure you put on the wounds isn't quite enough. it never is.

cause you wanted to break. were looking again to be wrecked. since it's so much easier to be hurt than to sit here like this. without a reason, but feeling just as bad.

cause i need to ache. need to see those slits. lick the wounds and taste all the intensity in. proof that i'm alive when i feel so fucking dead.

that's all i ever wnated. just to know that i'm alive. when it's so numb that you wish you could forget what feeling is like. cause you long for it. just to feel again. because anything is better than not knowing what you are. why you've been. anything is better. anything is better than this.

peel away the skin. expose the bone. it might be broken, but at least it knows. still remembers what it feels like. pain and pleasure. and all those degrees of. i need to hurt. need to feel again. cause numb is never what you expect it to be. and life forgets all too readily.

i've forgotten how it feels to, but i haven't forgotten that it happened. i still remember what it's like to be alive. and i want that. i need that. life needs blood. it does. life needs wounds.

cuz if i died tonight i wouldn't know that i had. this isn't any different from.

make me ache. make me wish that. anything other than this numb.