Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 18, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

09-18-04 9:16pm saturday

palest darkness filters in. while i languish in its lack of depth. the black at the center of every eye. no matter what color surrounds. that pitch black window round into nothing really. just imaginations.

swollen stars that dare not shine. worhsip the haughty moon as it sequesters the sunlight.

hear my testimony, but try me not. for this is my confession. this is my autumn to everyone else's spring.

i stare at it though i cannot see. this nothing all around. life inverted. skin inside. muscle out.

i speak to it though i know it doesn't listen. only to hear my absense spoken aloud. like the cold sweat dripping off of poet's heart. no need to see it. just the smell is enough. to take those words and make them verse.

it curls my hair. curves my veins. the tepid moisture that grief pervades.

in tomorrow i am haunted by myself. bitter wind left of what i could've been.

in yesterday i am a goddess. invincible and omniscient. old enough to believe in mortality, but too young yet to have accepted it.

now i am just myself. empty pages begging explanation. faltering words on edges steep. as i look up at the sky and dream. then look down and wonder how deep.

9:53pm 09-18-04 saturday

brave remorse chips the paint off long closed doors. the lock shivers. exposed.

feel me not as never you have. stark phantoms of a haunted heart. no love to receive nor to give.

tomorrow chokes on yesterday's vomit. conjoined twins that share every vital organ.

life is supsended high above itself. like a kite bereft with the wind. looking down as curiosity piques. it sees. sees how vast the expanse between how far it's gone and where it's been. and that slender string which connects them.

she used to ramble on. so much so that. lost in herself. the endless tunnels of thought. i'd try so hard to listen, but. not lost in the world, but rather lost within herself. that's the darkness the likes of which. that's the darkness that gives brith to poets and artists.

she'd talk. for hours without taking a single pause for breath. no outside drugs. just the cocaine produced in her head.

and i wonder if she escaped. tore herself out of these fleshy confines. i wonder is she better off now. is she finally in death alive.