Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 12, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

09-12-05 monday 12:20am

the hour demands, but never provides. raw fingers too sticky with blood to grab anyting besides the wounds. all the pain that accompanies them.

waking up never really happens until it's forced upon. every morning leaving that bed just another ritual that never results in.

you smell the scent and imagine how good it might taste to swallow. but resign yourself to the fact that it's something you can't hold.

and even if you're wrong. well, you saved yourself so much trouble. by not trying to have. especially when it's always failed you in the past.

everything comes and goes. from our lives. the only constant is what we retain of them. and what we are willing to let go of.