Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 7, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

10-07-03 tuesday 8:24am brick NJ

when i speak the words forget me. move passed my lips on a mission of self-desctruction. my life works against itself. my heart beats backward because tomorrow is my biggest fear. my heart beats backward because to love you is to love in reverse. because every step forward only brings us closer to an ending i don't want to reach.

my heart beats backward just to love you. because if it goes forward it will come to that final beat. because if it goes forward it will find the one that makes us leave.

10-07-03 tuesday 6pm brick NJ

spoken in silence,
seen without eyes,
everything you know that
you wish you didn't;

oh - to be stupid again
and just break quick and abrupt,
instead of this lingering,
this wading through the mud;

why does friday seem
so long ago,
likes years instead of days,
why does the next time
feel so far away,
like it may never arrive;

like i haven't seen you,
haven't touched you since
i don't know when,
why does it feel that way
when i know that it isn't?

how do hearts
tell these lies and
then fall in love with them?

why do hearts lie to themselves
and then pretend they haven't?

why does it feel like it's
been so long when
i know it hasn't?

10-07-03 7:55pm tuesday brick NJ

love is like a worm. a trojan
that crashes your entire system.
it's viral. it's an infection.
and the only removal method
is goodbye and then so much time,
so much time waiting,
waiting to not feel again.

your homeward eyes -
your restless soul -
your distant heart
that beckons mine;

so close - so deep inside
and yet still we are alone;

dig as deep as you can go,
split me open to find
what is hidden,
crawl inside me -
burrow deep
and build yourself a residence,
but there's still a
million miles between;
nothing fills this emptiness.

October 7, 2003 8:07pm Tuesday

i don't write anymore. cuz what i write is all crap. and i don't lie anymore since i've no use for that.

i don't make friends. i just have sex. they like it until it matters to them.

don't write anymore since i can't. whatever used to be the cause it is dead. can't love anymore. not since the last time that i did.

don't ask me when you've already got your answers in your head and you know that mine won't match them. don't question my intentions when your own aren't any better than. don't say it's this when you know it's that. don't do it. don't make it hard. don't make me think about what we have. don't make me want what we can't.

10-07-03 tuesday 9:50pm

now. like how your voice cracks when i go there. and how you let me make the most of the little we have.

now. like writing this afraid to ask the words if. they'll ever end. if they'll find a reason to continue. if they'll hold us as. or just change the subject. like you do.

everything is dying, but it's such a long process. everything is dying from the moment that it's born. but all the while we're scrambling to put life into those empty spaces. every word begs for mercy. every pause submits to the silence. ready to be beaten. willing to be taken.

every thought that presents itself in the hope of having been said. i have no consolation prizes for them. every tear that almost fell reminds me why i didn't want to go this route. but it doesn't tell me not to. and it doesn't give an exit.

now. how can i say no. now. how can i ever utter those words good bye. the ones i always thought were within my means. they slipped away silently as we kept on talking. and now the time it's taken has taken me. now that time that we've let happen has happened to us. hearts without a reason to stay. without a reason to leave. just caught in the nothing that they breed. just caught up in the high branches of life's tallest trees. waiting for the autumn. waiting for a reason to fall. waiting for the air to change. find that cold underlayment that makes everything seem wasted. waiting for that strong breeze to push the dead leaves off this tree.

but now is autumn and it hasn't happened. now is here. right here with us and nothing changed except that it's more a part of me. instead of forgetting it's become permanent.

now. like that look you wear when you're touching me so much. so sweet. now like how i want it to be. perfect as it is capable of. as if perfect could ever be. now. like your fingertips on my flesh. the sensations still lingering long after you've left. now. that's all we've ever had. now ought to be more than enough. it is i guess. because love has no requests. it just wants to give. such a shame it is. giving. love like this. with so many reaons. but wrong nonetheless.

10-07-03 tuesday 10pm brick NJ

i don't know what to write to you now that all my words have preceded us. trying to remember how stupid i was. trying to laugh when the alternatives are not what i want.

i write to you sometimes like i'm talking to myself. you know too much. and you know this. and i still don't know anything except what i've given up. what i've let slip when nights are too long and so many habits exposed it.

i've never made love. it's always been sex. and i don't know that i want to, but i wonder how it must feel. different or the same. elation or disappointment. i've never made love. never been made love to. cuz i always find a way to make it less. and i don't know if i'm better off or if i feel cheated by.

i guess like anyone i want to know how it is. those beautiful things that other lives have had. i guess it's stupid. knowing how brief it is. but like everything in life. it's not about the duration. it's just what you take from it.

i've never made love. never been made love to. and i wonder how much it can be different. i've had sex. i've been fucked. on the one hand i'd like to glimpse what i've missed. but on the other hand i don't need to taste another thing i can't swallow.