Dark Poetry Prose Poetry August 30, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

08-30-04 monday 8:57pm

summer's breast swollen with autumn's feeding. i laugh as if the joy is real. but then i turn my head and feel so much resistance. all that pain just to look in a different direction. it hardly seems worth it.

it's not hard now, but it's more important. as time sprints onward i feel compelled to try to keep up.

broken is easy. broken makes senese. you know all you have to do is put the pieces back together again. broken is so easy, but that's just not what i am.

i don't know what it is. i don't know at all. so how can i ever hope to fix this when i don't evenr know what is wrong.

it's a sweet drug, but the syringe has an air bubble in it. it's a right turn when you should've made a left. it's like standing on life's doorstep begging it to let you in, but it just refuses.

monday 08-30-04 9:23pm

you can't say that i'm wrong. only that you disagree. you can't tell me i'll be fine when you don't even know me.

maybe i don't want to be fine. even if i could. maybe all i've ever wanted is to die. cause love is a liar. and happiness only temporary.

summer's almost over again and it seems i've missed the whole event. it never got warm in here. the days didn't get any longer. and the nights never shortened.

all i remember is how humid it used to get when your world would infiltrate mine. how much i always wanted it to rain, but it wouldn't.

all i know now is how cold it's been since. how readily i believed my own lies. how eager i was to tell them.

monday 08-30-04 10:14pm

i miss it all. every single breath that would compensate for those lost before them. i miss it like a blind man misses his sight. lost in visions of when reality still agreed with his memory of it.

i miss when i used to be so certain that i was right. when the mile markers between good and bad were still accurate. and i could count. keep track of the distance.

i miss the people who used to make it easy to see myself. because like mirrors they'd reflect. more accurately than any single self could admit. i miss everything that i never thought i wanted. because in reality, those are the best gifts. the ones you'd never think to get.

i'm just counting now. no more alive than the clock i watch. i'm just marking off. no more human than the calendar that charts.

i miss it all. just as the moon misses the dark. everyday shoves it furhter down into my past. it wades barefoot in rivers of tears unwept. it grows like frail dandelions on the edge of the wind. perched helplessly on the lips of a gentle breeze. wondering how it will that receive that kiss.

i never forgot. just didn't see the need to persist. i'm paint. watch me dry. it's not that interesting. i'm paint. watch me dry. nothing much changes except the color darkens a little bit.

i could've tried harder i guess, but i just didn't see why i should when no one else ever did.

i could've been colder. maybe, somethimes i think i should've been.

everyone's a rose. all fraught with thorns i can't predict. and a dandelion is all i've been. so suspetible to the slightest breeze.