Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 29, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

8:36pm wednesday 9-29-04

don't watch the sunset
with only your eyes.
dance naked with it
on your heart's sharpest edge.

life is a river - learn to swim.
or you'll spend your life
under water watching the world
from the below the surface;

where everything's distorted.

life is a river - people are waves.
learn to ride them or
they'll knock you down;

better learn how before it's too late.

because memory doesn't only serve,
cold appetizers and stale leftovers,
it also takes like a thief.

it takes every little piece of sunshine
and snatches it away while you sleep.

life is a river - learn to swim.
people are waves,
they'll drown you if you let them.

9-29-04 10:59pm wednesday

time travels in phases like blood does. infinite wholes comprised of so many tiny droplets. both dependent on and neccessary for. the paradox isn't being born only to eventually die. it's that for as long as we do we actually manage to survive.

i am clean. i've been sterilized. lives like syringes extract from and give to as they see fit. time is medicine. it only cures if you swallow it. time is medicine. it tastes just as bad as it is does good if.

thumbnail apologies don't show the details. so you click on the indication to find the full size. all those curves. all those creases. they show me more than i wanted.

acceptance moves like clouds over the moon. darkness now darker yet. you give in thinking now i've given all i have to, but somehow they always manage to take a little more. even at your emptiest they find one more scrap to confiscate. and you couldn't do anything to stop them. since you never even knew it was there to take.

that's what it is. people find in you things you otherwise wouldn't have known were there. and the only way you ever find out that you had it is when someone makes you notice that it's gone.

11:34pm 9-29-04 wednesday

i write everything i do on the assumption that someone will read it. that somewhere there are eyes that ask the same questions i do. not with ready answers, but with an understanding.

i write like this. in my frenzy of self-awareness. so sure that i have failed. so convinced that.

i write as if someone is listening. knowing eyes. temperate heart. everyone writes to someone besides themselves. they wouldn't otherwise. everyone does. certain they're not listening, but always hoping that they might.

i must've dreamt this last year because i feel so woken up. that everything that seemed so real then is vanishing as a dream does.

i must've been sleeping and not realized. because now it feels just like being woken up. the world becoming real again. all those colors giving up.

people write to be heard. to be remembered when. to say the things they couldn't. i write like anyone does with the notion someone will read. because these words are real even if nothing else was. these words are real like what i've felt. what i thought you felt for me.

i write to them and always hope they'll understand what the words can mean. but they just read. read like strangers. they see the words, but they're just that. without a person to answer. without a heart cut in half.

i write each night like i always do with the concept of soemone is there. even if they're not. i write to people. not myself. since i already know. i write to them because it's hard to verbalize those thoughts. because they took the feelings like candy and then they were gone.

i dreamt it all. i must have. because now i'm awake and it's so different. you haven't forgotten what it meant. you've just proven that it never did.