Dark Poetry Prose Poetry December 1, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

12-01-04 wednesday 10pm

survival isn't for the fittest. or for anyone who lives.

your whisper's just a scream in a world of less volume. your words written. are your voice for the future to be spoken.

no dew drops on these flowering eyes. no clouds overhead in your heart's endless sky. just space. so much of it. and the pressure it exterts as gravity lessens.

it's only the beginning. not the end. each month. each year. exhales and again you must catch your breath.

distance as it is persued by. your friends. your confidantes. distance like a bridge rising up. to prevent you form coming back to them.

it's just skin. isn't it. cavities in your construction that beg for filling. it's only pleasure. as obvious as this mellow river in my throat.

i've never been real to them. only an outline of a person. and they'd try. try to fill it in. but it fades. it always does. because they crawl inside. but the outside is all they really know.