Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 15, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

10-15-05 1:20am saturday

the end is all that matters since it's what you're always left with.

taste me now with starched lips. stiff against the plague of an absentee kiss.

stoic as the pull of the sun on a dark bed when the covers come off.

empty thghs waiting on. perfumed poisons.

we were never young nor old enough to carry those flowers we'd picked. light as they may be to others. in some hands, every petal is full of lead.

dream us again and wait. for the hour to admit. that we turned it. from grey to black. because every other color is long since gone from that spectrum.

10-15-05 saturday 10:11pm

the disease presents itself as symptoms, but don't be fooled by appearances. the same disease that kills others, is all that can save some.

in shifting movements pain becomes not the weight at the end of the spoon, but instead the fulcrum of the lever itself.

the sound is pertrified into yearning skin as over and over repeats the process. remembering. in cool debates inside your head. litigating your loyalties until all are cirucmspect.

your tomorrows contingent on how much empty you can live with.

a precarious balance between sadness and apathy. no peaks. no valleys. just time linear as it tugs on the loose threads.

letting it unravel. letting everything go. take it all away. so slow.