Dark Poetry Prose Poetry December 31, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

12-31-03 wednesday 9:34pm brick NJ

if you had any clue how little i care now. you wouldn't even. you'd be afraid to speak to me. cuz this kind of apathy is so powerful.

i've given up on the prospect of ever being happy again. that is, if i ever was. i think that. maybe once or twice. but i'm not certain.

new days. new years. laugh them off as you would any sort of pain. transitioning as best you can. late night vigils with your bottles do nothing to allay.

the calendar build against you. months are mountains. years are graves. open and begging for a casket.

if you had any idea how little i care. you'd probably run the other way. because i've given up on everything. on ever feeling anything other than this slumbering ache.

i think that i'll leave love for someone better qualified. i think that i'll put these supposed friends outside the margins. where lies can do little damage. i'll leave trust to those who can. and let love remember anew why she never wanted to.

take a life and hollow it out like a melon. take a heart and cut it in half like a fillet. every moment is a knife. it's always bleeding. it's just a question of when you'll die. when you'll stop caring. every moment slices like a blade through the tender skin that love does wear. every conversation. every touch begs her devotion and her sacrifice. bleed her dry. now i have nothing left to long. no tears at all to cry.

if you could comprehend how little i care now. i think you'd go running scared.

it's like leting go, but even moreso. it's like holding the razor over your wrist and imaginging the blood pouring out of it. the dying. the death. more alive in dying than life has ever let.

you could've, but you didn't. there's nothing else for me to say. you were offered, but you didn't accept. i can't feel sorry for you anymore. not enough to care again.

if you knew right now how little i care i think that you'd be frightened. because no one has ever cared less. the new year fills this life with oceans of emptiness. the razor hovers above the wrist. bloodthirsty. so many nights it should've opened those veins. and they'll never miss. so many times it almost did. someday soon i'll remember again just how much i hate this life. this pretending to live it.