Dark Poetry Prose Poetry December 13, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

monday 12-13-04 9:55pm

don't you melt on me. like ice in my hands. slipping away one drop at a time

won't watch it happen. my grip never tight enough. to hold that liquid as it runs. runs down my thighs and forms it puddle.

don't you tell me. how much it meant. and then leave it there slowly caving in.

don't melt away. just another snowman children soon neglect.

don't force me to find that hat and scarf on the ground. the pieces of myself i gave to you discarded. nothing left of the person who once wore them.

don't melt on me. winter isn't over yet.

12-13-04 10:45pm monday

the frequency. two parts vibration. to one part speed.

the frequency of pain isn't something you can hear. it's silent.

as silent as the tears you save.

give me no tomorrow. give me none of it. draw the clouds like curtains. don't let the sun in.

give me memories already done. no more to make. light this heart up like a christmas tree. and sweetly striped candy canes.

put your presents under. all wrapped up snug.

but don't open them.

leave the ribbons intact. leave the paper untorn. just this once.

12-13-04 10:53pm monday

with darkness. you snuggle. hard cockroach in its mealy arms.

with shdaows you dance. corrupt waltzes that sweat the sheets.

in everything you touch it resonates. the culmination. to you. to them. and returning in a gust of knowness colder than any blizzard's wind.

with yourself. or without. how do you know if.

do you look in the mirror to find that face you wear. or do you look deeper to see what's underneath it?

thought i could. reason chewing on its own fingertips. tasting the blood. and the skin. as slowly the ability to touch was being robbed from them.

wanted to. for it to be. just as time had promised.

wait. heal. rise again from those ashes.

only in. as hurt unwinds like an old pocketwatch. ticking. ticking slower. slower still. until at last it comes to its stop.

with darkness. so loyal. one and only friend.

open as you need to be, but still concealed.

wearing the world in shades of grey. each gradient another stitch in that empty rainbow.

12-13-04 monday 11:30pm

myself. only less. sometimes. and more. given the chance.

you. that spark against my sulfur. turning brimstone into fire.

turning sadness inside out. copulating happiness.

myself. a little less. sometimes. you know. parachutes with holes in them.

falling the same. just quicker yet.

landing on the same ground. just harder. greater impact.

you. i don't know. can only imagine.

cauldron stewing in my chest. toil and trouble.

and spells been cast.

was magic. in that sense of how deceptive it is.

was magic. it must've been.

because there's no other way it could ever feel that good again.