Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 5, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

9-05-03 9:30 friday brick NJ

it's sucks being me. only thing i had was some good sex and now that's gone too. because i had to go and care about someone other than myself again. what the fuck is wrong with me?!

if i die tomorrow you should spit on my grave. and if i don't then just pretend that i did. i may as well have.

the mcdoofuses and the mcmarrieds. it's funny how i gravitate towards them. not saying i didn't choose. just pissed that i always do.

if i could find the means to hate i would've often. but i don't know how. except myself. or i used to. but then everything had to go and change. don't much like life though. all the circumstances and limitations. if i could that's the first thing that i'd hate. almost do. just short of. but isn't that what i've always been.

if i must feel this way, then you ought to make it easy. it's the least that you could do. if you must think that you love me, i ought to show you why you couldn't possibly. but i hesitate. scared and selfish. and wanting too much again.

i'm writing not knowing why i am. thinking about dialing, but the receiver still sleeps in its cradle quiet. i've always been dying, but it's hurts so much more since you. since i've been wishing that i could live.

but there are no means. no methods that can take these thoughts and make them more than. even if there were. it wouldn't matter. more obstacles than you'd ever guess. more is strange like that. sometimes it's more that makes it so much less.