Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 2, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

9-02-03 tuesday 7:55pm brick NJ

the sober life. or somewhat closer to remembering how. so myself. caught in conversations without.

just to teach myself to sleep again. just to learn to be me and then.

the sober life. and not so sober friends with their all too sobering requests.

to find the hollow again without my guide. to extract the numbness without the drug. was that just a benefit of youth. is this just a symptom of it having passed. can i relearn all those tricks or has too much time built up in this skin.

the sober life. was it ever real or just the delusions of a child.

9-02-03 9:40pm brick NJ tuesday

daunted, but not without a reason. lost, but not without a sense of direction. old habits and even new ones never die. you can supress them, but they'll always be there lurking under your flesh.

captured, but not because i was caught. taken, but not through submission. the tender wounds are the ones that cry the least. its those old scars that always start to weep.

somewhere in my heart i know just what this should be and how to make it so. it's just a matter of transcribing from lovespeak to reality. it's only just waiting out the transition until it becomes what we've always really been.

headaches must mean that something in there is discontent. and dreams must have their methods when they make themselves so potent. but like everything that happens to body and mind, it's all just theory and second guessing the decision. like every choice in life, there's rarely if ever any proof you've chosen right.

i take the drinks in stride. pretending that i am controlling them. maybe again someday i might. i take the moments in small sips, trying to delay their pace to meet mine.

i hear you. it's hard not to listen. i see you still, though you're not present. i want to tell you that you should be again, but i can't.

9-02-03 tuesday 10:13pm rbick NJ

do i have a pulse. i can't feel it. where does anyone belong. i can only guess. wonder at how they presume to fit into those tiny spaces that they protect. and though i try not to, i envy them. their single minded compulsion. their narrow viewed conception of what life has become.

give me something to write about cuz all my reasons have turned to doubt.

do i breathe or do i just drink. floundering on the edge of survival knowing that the jump is beckoning. denying the need to, as if that could prove.

if i say that every sentence is only a journey to the next. if i say that sober takes me and make me hate myself again. like going back in time to when. young again and caught up in all the selfish things a life can do. if i admit that i can't tell you what i want because i'm afraid to think about it. afraid to know just how much it won't.

just laugh when i should be crying. that's all a life can do. just put it away when it starts to demand things it can't have.

am i alive. is there a way to prove. i guess i've used them all up. time to start over again. refresh the pages. ask why again. give myself away to the love and watch as it's all taken away.