Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 16, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

09-16-04 9pm thursday

in the beginning it's the concept. and throughout muscle grows over that skeleton. and in the end in goes back to bone again.

in your candor you laugh and cry. and hope it's in sync with those around you. or if not, that it won't matter.

in your eyelashes you see snowflakes and wonder how winter came back so quick. in your memories you see flaws in their truths that before we never apparent.

with thought your only luxury you bask in it. logic romances the weak with promises of independence.

love is like a siren. blaring in my head. it's painful. it's traumatic. and it's deafening. but i miss it when it's silent.

time can't be mispent. it's there just for us to use. a little or a lot doesn't matter. nor with who or whom.

time isn't the threat. neither too much nor too little. just ourselves. how we pick at it like scabs instead of letting it heal those wounds.