Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 17, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

10:16pm monday 10-17-05

it's apparent in everything you do. the lisp of your fingers as they feel. the stutter in your thoughts as you assemble them.

words not meant to be spoken, seduced. life staining the thickest fabrics of your person.

the scent of alone stagnates in every corner of your mood. salty like the sea is. cold as its farthest reaches.

the hour doesn't draw closer as it should. instead it moves steadily away from. in gasps time sucks its posion from souring blood. it continues to negotiate the wisdom of your veins. but it grows thicker, slower day by day.

there is nothing in this darkness that makes me want to leave it. and still nothing that convinces me i should stay. perched like a vulture on this low branch, i await the next carcass.

because everything must die. and those left alive still, must feed on the remains.

10-17-05 11pm monday

the hot tire with the road embedded in its flesh. moves quicker. feels no pain as more of the road pierces its skin.

those corners never straighten, so we must turn to adjust. if the road is in fact, what we seek to stay on.

the open bottle is not the reason. it's lips that taste. and remember too well. it's pathos. that shriek when all we want is quiet.

a bullet in your hand that doesn't move fast enough to break the flesh upon contact. it burrows slowly into. its target the same. its course more scenic.

it's resolutions made in darkness as reason would antagonize burgeoning weakness. no promise holds your future to itself. no shadow looms upon your past. just now as its fathoms drill deeper into that mask.

wearing not, but willing to be worn by. whatever comfort is to be extracted from all these lies.

wanting for the end, but never finding its path. pressing your fingers into the darkness. but finding no exit.

10-17-05 monday 11:41pm

anxiety's grin. calm and too prophetic. the moon is too bright now for me to see the darkness. just outlines of how we once were so lost. thinking that we still are, but unable to sustantiate these wishes.

how lost i'd like to be if it could take me away from myself. from all those people who dare to remember long after our time has been.

putting old needles into new veins. coating clean tongues in their dirty kisses. pink skin under the flourescents turning purple again.

there's no growing old enough to know where the last end meets the next. there's no drug hard enough to blot out the person you are.

only trials as they indict suspect hearts. only sentences that won't relent.

where it began is too long ago to recall. yellowing pages. fading ink. but it's obvious now where it must end.