Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 4, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

09-04-05 sunday 1am

there are too few words. not enough. to teach me how what i am is different from what i've become.

what never changes you wait for it to, but it doesn't.

you could make it real, but you won't. you could be , but you're not.

and we learn. thought we resist. still we learn what they are. what we arren't. and how hard it is to tell the difference.

no eyes sure enough. no hearts hard enough. to endure what these lives must become.

i wiated for a while, but thought who's waiting for me. no one. i waited, but realized i was waiting for something that was never going to happen.

not broken, but cut. i can't feel those wounds anyway, until i see the blood. funny how it never hurts until

i'll never feel any pain unless you show it to me.

slice me open. it won't matter. unless i see. there is no pain unless. there is no loss. because your're never gone unless you want to be.

no reflection needs to be cast. just close your eyes and remember how it used to be.

that's all i can do when.

that's all i can do now that there's nothing else left.

09-04-05 sunday 9:30pm

burgundy hours broaden the sky
for what shall become the
image resilient. the cardinal
truth amongst all of life's lies.

breath is untrue. for it seduces
cold hearts into thinking they're alive.
love is not a place. it isn't where
you are. it's where they go without you.

paper moments scribbled upon with
girlish wishes, much too fragile.
crumbled up and tossed in balls.
those moments litter my heart.

***

darkened days spun like yarn
into blankets. clutched in colors warm.

unravelling at the center,
though the edges are the same.

nothing is whole.

there is only dark.
cold as it sneaks into
fill that vacant space the lost colors
have left within.

09-04-05 sunday 10:43pm

no stories to tell. just words. arteries breached.

suffer not the contagion that is desires erupting. nor gaping mouth needs.

let it spill. let the opening yawn and release. everything internal that presses on the skin. causes it to shriek.

taste the echo as the hole is let. the sweet nectar that is surrender.

wanting not for flight from broken wings. nor color from dead leaves.

sifting with the sorrow down into the nothing that becomes. all veins spilling into it as into every chamber it floods.

harsh as that first breath. delicate as the last one.