Dark Poetry Prose Poetry December 5, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

12-05-04 11am sunday

staging fast the spider's sight.
everything multiplied.

no open veins to show my grief.
no pitiable tears wear my cheeks.

only the empty bottles on the desk
that fill me up with so much less.

12-05-04 sunday 9:46pm

the wind at the back of your neck. the wind talks when you're alone.

the spark. reason looking for a foothold.

but you're weightless. not real to them.

i was patient. i was. i actually believed then that time had power.

but it's nothing. just a drain these lives run down.

i used to think. this flesh. it's just a covering. another costume in the show.

took a long time to realize all those actors really are their roles.

cut me below the skin. cause that's how i like it. that it's visible to no one. my pain all my own.

just as it's always been.

turns out those cures were all placeboes. that this disease is terminal.

turns out what's underneath this flesh is just as ugly to them.

12-05-04 sunday 10:16pm

a heartbeat lost. does it look for. is it still alive. somewhere out there still trying to find where it belongs.

not felt. not heard. the written. pictures that cannot be drawn. except on hearts made of paper. and ink made of flesh.

show me your god. let me speak with it. that i might ask why it's forgotten its children.

tempting as the evil we do we inevitably come to regret. there's so much power in the ability to hurt someone else. such an allure to it.

especially when you feel your weakest.

time our judas. ourselves our pilate. religion not my vice. but such a beautiful collection of fairy tales to desbribe suffering. and sacrifice misguided.

am i made of glass? do i shatter like that?

into so many tiny pieces. into a million shards you'll never find until they make you bleed.

am i made of glass? do you see through me?

do i break so easily into all those pieces.

and how long ago was that?

12-05-04 sunday 11:29pm

forgotten. as all lives will become.

sad isn't it. that we should feel so much. only to watch it suffer. be eviscerated.

we may feel the pain. but the real victims are those tomorrows that will never be. unborn ghosts haunting houses empty.

forgotten. or so we hope. as life paves its roads and these tires squeal. oen gear the same as teh next as we try. try to accelerate. only to find. all those choices we made. made us long ago. all those moments that broke us. we were fractured long before then.

laying there in pieces thinking ourselves whole. thinking all that fluid escaping belonged to someone else. never realizing it was our own.

no wrong. only degrees of right. as you climb that staircase. tentatively ascending the levels of your life.

what passageways you might find. what doors unlocked.

thinking you've cinched the latch. but they sneak in and you know too late that you haven't.

forgotten. well i wish it was. just like everything i've ever tried to love.