Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 31, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

9:52pm 10-31-04 sunday

happiness doesn't mean anything to me. it's just another false god that offers people something to believe in.

it's just another heaven with no stairway up to it.

i played the puppet. wore the role. i wore it so long i couldn't remember who i was before.

couldn't admit. couldn't cry. not because i wasn't able. just because i know the only thing anyone would take away from it was my weakness. and that it would be exploited.

i cut the pages. down and across. tore them from their bindings. every word halved. every hope abandoned.

i went into life the same as anyone. new and eager. empty journal hungry to be filled up.

with words and experiences. both positive and negative. and the abundance of greys that float between.

i went in that way, but it didn't last. new became old. and suddenly it was so hard to make anything worthwhile happen.

eventually happiness didn't mean anything to me. just ashes left over after the fire had been extinguished.

10:11pm 10-31-04 sunday

know just what i am. don't need you to remind me.

masks that meld to our faces as we grow. they're hard to remove. and anyway why would i want to.

i know how the heart keeps track. what it measures by. i know on that scale i am weightless. i don't mind. just hate being misled.

maybe pigeons are just rats with wings. and even still, people just animals with their claws retracted. don't you think.

i know. i do. always have. that's always been the problem. so the solution must lie in fogetting. or never having been born.

i live in vhs. but remmeber in dvd. the muffled music and the fuzzy picture suddenly becoming clear.

it doesn't matter how well you know yourself. cause you never know them. you never know anyone until they hurt you. and it's too late by then.