Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 12, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

8:52pm 9-12-04 sunday

i bleed chocolate sauce. the sweetest pain you'll ever drizzle over your thoughts. i ache cookies and cream. it never tastes so good as it does when we bleed.

i am left to live knowing i was your big mistake. i am left to simmer in that knowledge. to strangle in that dirty cape.

sorrow is the sidewalk i have paved. concrete hearts and rueful landscapes.

i am left knowing i was your huge mistake. that lie you'll admit on your deathbed and say how much you regret having made.

broken hearts are ice cream sundaes. with cherries on top. cold and sweet and melting rapidly.

9pm 09-12-04 sunday

don't you know the poet i used to be. don't you remember her. those verses spinning like pinwheels.

did you ever know her. did you and she ever meet. or was it only upon those lonely pages that it all took place.

don't you believe the rhymes as they persist. so steadfast in their pursuit of happiness.

don't you let them fool you with their zealous adjectives. there are many pages, but very few chapters.

you don't remember at all. i don't think i do either. how the words would rise like cresting waves. how we'd ride them so tall.

poets are just people. that's all. people who see the world in words. people who don't know how to talk.

sunday 9-12-04 9:35pm

your walls made of darkness. plaster moonbeams. your walls. how you greet them like doorways though they offer no passge. your walls. you can't move them, but you can see right through. all walls being just papier mache receptacles for words never spoken. and feelings unexpressed.

your life gathers in shoulders. turning human exhibits. human plaster of paris. hardens as you work with it.

paint the day purple and glaze the night in red. the spectrum of existence is a rainbow full of more colors than you've ever dreamt.

memory a prism fractures all incoming sources of light. into the shades of. into indigoes dark and selfish violets. it takes the solid and breaks it into fragments. but it doesn't weaken. instead it shows all that is hidden.

your walls are never tall enough. to separte the rooms. your walls are never thick enough to vanish all the voices that assume. walls grow like mountains out of the deepest trenches in your life. walls cry like rain does. as it dances. dances amongst itself in the harsh moonlight.

time chases, but we do not run. still as the walls we worship. staring at the footprints left behind us. afraid to take another step.

10:29pm sunday 9-12-04

i know how much it is. and how little. soft bark on branches. tender leaves. the sunlight asks. how graceful your descent. how marked your absense. we can't know. we can't answer. we can only wish. that the tomorrows we leave behind will remember us. not who we are, but rather who we could've been.

having not. life a slipknot. wondering if. the edge of the water remembers the footsteps it has vanished.

don't you think it should know. have to live with. the perpetuity of its rhythm. as it embraces lives not ready. as it changes hearts still unfinished.

the words they are a mystery to me. and the reasons for them even moreso. the positions i've been in. placed myself there. they all seem so ludicrous. but that is who i am. that is the poet.

forgetting as it were leaves little room for happiness. that you shouldn't remmeber all that was beautiful about because of how it ended.

i prefer to think that pain is godlike. the highest form of the human experience. i prefer to assume that everyone is in pain, but few ever know it.