Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 13, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

10-13-03 8:30am monday brick NJ

i stole a smile,
i don't deny my crime,
but it was only supposed
to be just that -
no love hidden inside
what i'd take,
but now it's too late
to give it back.

10-13-03 monday 8:32am brick NJ

if friends are what lovers become when anemic hearts have lost too much blood, then how to comfort them when they again need more from? if friends are what lovers become. in time. with too much reason. then how does the reverse happen?

why prick me knowing i will bleed, then tell me that's not what you wanted as you are lapping at the puddles. why ask me knowing the answer is what you seek and then deny you ever questioned?

if i let the happiness consume me, even knowing it is tentative. am i foolish or just realistic. knowing chances don't come often. and that no chance is ever permanent.

if i bathe in the sun. soak up the warmth. and ignore the cancer in its charms. am i reckless or just prudent. knowing that if not this disease then surely some other. and willing to suffer later for the comfort now can offer.

just as i always have been.

with you. with him.

just as i always have.

just as life dictates.

no decisions. only chances.

10-13-03 monday 9pm brick NJ

on silence i subsist. both drinking and drowing in it. brought back to life every now and then by music and touch. by friendship and lust.

on every moment i gaze with astonishment at how they can keep coming seemingly infinite. on every conversation i lay, shivering in its icy sheets until the heat again finds its pace.

in forgetting is how i teach myself to remember without regretting. in living is how i am dying. like everyone is. only i think about it much too often. not fear of, but rather waiting for it to happen. puzzled at how sporadic life is. short lives. long ones. and all the inner degrees of. no patterns. no logic. only ticking clocks counting off. keeping their secrets. leaving us ignorant and impotent as life draws it plot.

whatever i have. now. then. ever. all that i can claim is nothing. there are no possessions. just temporary situations. clauses in life's contract. ammendments to love's doctines. treaties with yourself. and signatures that fade. whomever we touch. or suppose that we did. whatever comforts we clutch. or sadness we numb. whomever it is. or yet will be. the only one who is a constant is me. the only definite is that the moments will continue counting and i'll be listening. the only given is that every thing broken or lost has it's place in our hearts. and that there's always more room. if you wait long enough, time will make it. for love. for ache. for everything life can give and take until the moment that it takes everything away.

the only thing i'm sure of is that love is real. as real as we are anyway. and that living is truly dying day by day. the only thing i know that matters is can you remember who you've been. and knowing who you are now and not be sorry you have lived. be able to be what you will next and embrace it for whatever it has to give.