Dark Poetry Prose Poetry December 13, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

tuesday 12-13-05 11:18 PM

is this the world that we've made or what the world has made of us? half empty lives trying to look the opposite. this is what we are. these paper snowflakes with nowhere to fall. scissors everywhere. and hundreds of tiny pieces all cut away.

is this? must it be? empty roads without streetlights as we drive on aimlessly.

a shadow on your fingertip as you reach for the pen foretelling of the ink that's all gone from it. and all the pages that will never know.

is this? must it be? this sigh without a breath. drowning in an eternity of silence. as if i was never born. and am only watching what my life might've been. i can see and hear it, but it cannot be touched.

a song too soft to hear, but in your skin it echoes like the shadows that sometimes skate across gray walls when the window betrays. words without language. a halt to the clock. neither asleep nor awake. yet somehow dreaming still the same.