Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 19, 2006 Dark Poetic Prose

sunday 2-19-06 11:28 PM

August - it's almost never dark. February - it always is. And between these times we live as though nothing ever changes. Because it doesn't.

We're never short on sunshine or stars. But always. Always. There's something not there.

So much to want. But what do I need.

I tell myself nothing, but flesh protests. Among other things.

Whatever tastes like truth. Just feed it to me. I don't care if it's only saccharine.

Carbonated thighs. Pop the cork.

If I should forget the difference between drunk and happiness. Will you remind me. Make me remember. How slow that cigarette burns between thougthless lips.

How easy it is to put out once you acknowledge it's always been dying.

Please don't take me home. All I ever wanted was for you to leave me stranded..