Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 14, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

9-14-03 sunday 8am brick NJ

in waking up like this. quiet hours in the colors of last night's waning sunset. in sleep, every morning being born again. and the world outside now so grey like the world inside my head.

in finding myself alive again. not coaxed by the sunrise, but rather suffused with its non-presense.

in waking up like this. silently and alone discovering that last night did happen. finding the remnants. the bottles and words all empty now from when i then took them in. hollowed out capsules of liquid and emotion standing like soldiers without their weapons.

in waking up like this i see myself again. threatened by morning with yet another day to live. maybe more. maybe less. silently and all alone discovering that these words are far more empty than those bottles mark. in waking up like this. caught in the bloody birth canal of my pregnant heart. i don't want to be born. i don't want to live.

09-14-03 sunday 8:51pm brick NJ

i don't know how to say. cuz i can't let you go and i can't keep you. i don't know why i'm miserable. just know that i've always been. and so skilled at finding ways to exaserbate.

i don't know what to do. cuz i can't keep you and i can't let you go.

i don't know when to call, if ever. or answer. to talk. or to see and to touch. to leave or to love. to break on my own terms or to see how you will get the job done.

and like you said, it doesn't matter anyway. so why even bother. to think about it. to care or to write how. it doesn't matter anyway. you sounded so sure. so let's just agree that it doesn't matter and refuse to feel it anymore.

September 14, 2003 8:57pm

i'm feeling insecure today. tonight. most all of the time.

and whimsical too. like laughing at yourself because you can't think of anything better to do.

i'm feeling insecure today. right now. this night. and every one that has wrapped its cold, dark fingers around my throat.

and silly too. like when you sit down with your personal calculator and find the equations are not quite in your favor. when you finally come to terms with who you are. to yourself. to friends. to the world in general.

lost little girl. sad little whining poet. sex toy. rag doll. user and abuser of all things pleasurable. used and abused too. because you facilitate it.

lost little girl. littler still by every moment. sad cry baby poet. sex toy. blow up doll pinnochio. abusing every chance to be used. using every possible abuse.

lost little girl. and they all know it.

9-14-03 sunday 9:30pm brick NJ

bring it out and take it back in. deeper still. seething with the pleasure of pain induced trances. reveling in the burning of flesh. love's acids melting my senses.

bring it out and push it back in again. deep. hard. hurtful as you can. cuz i'm made to be hurt. built to be broken again and again.

push me down. toss me. bend me. fold me. push me like a piston. engines driven. hurt me. cuz it's the only way. because it's the only emotion i can truly feel. love twisting and ripping through my nervous system like a tapeworm. hurt me. cuz you know that was always the plan. there is no other way.

9-14-03 sunday 10pm brick NJ

love. i wonder at. like looking up a huge mountain wishing you could touch its summit, but knowing you can't.

love. that's what you asked. what you claimed you had. it's what i want. what i have. but love isn't always friendly. never has. and where do we put it. where do we keep it. some secret chamber that the world will never find. how can it be of any benefit to us when we must lock it up because it's not appropriate. what good can it do for us when we're forced to confine it. of all the loves there have ever been this must be the cruelest. of all there is to love and whom, i wish i never loved you. cuz i'm so bad at leaving and that is exactly what love demands i must do.

9-14-03 sunday 11pm brick NJ

i've said and done so many things outside of the confines that this situatiion brings. i've cared too much. like a child lost in love. allowing it to decide for me when i know that it shoudn't. i've given way like a poorly built birdge something when much too heavy is trying to cross. it's not that it's wrong. though i know it is. it's just that it's a path so dark. right into the heart of the forest. where life outside of it gets forgotten. where i go when i give in to the obsession.

keep writing as if another verse might somehow find what all those others haven't. keep talking to yourself. pretending that alone is still where you want to be. only everything has changed again. too different to understand yet. i hate alone. i hate everything about this. and there are no other choices left. just death. just the cowards way out. just admitting that i am and finding out how to make it stick.

you might think that it's just whatever else it could've been. you might think that none of this matters. but it does. so much. more than you've ever guessed. that last song. that final verse before you submit to the fact that they are endless until.

if love is real. though i'm not certain it is. but if it must be then it has happened again. for no good reason. for no hope except to breathe and then die again. if love is real. then this has been it, but i don't know what to do with it. if love could be a real thing, then i almost could believe you when. but it's not. it isn't. if it was then i'd let you go, but i can't. if it was then i'd just sit here letting it be what it is. but it's not. this is what we must accept.