Wednesday, 12 January 2011

• Currently Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys By My Chemical Romance see related

  Prose Poem 1-12-11

  I've been angry all my life, sitting in the corner, knife-blade pressed to my throat; willing myself to have the courage to do what's always needed to be done; if only my mother'd had the guts to strangle me with the umbilical cord when I was born; if only, if only, if only...I never grow tired of hearing myself speak those words, I don't think I ever will; if only I had the guts to spill, the will to spill my blood, but I never wanted it on my hands; I always felt squeemish when I saw my own blood staining my hands, the ironic part was that I could watch you bleed all day and never cringe- show me a syringe and I'll duck from the room, unless I know I'm depressing the stopper and sticking you with the needle; your pain is my gain, my pain comes at the cost of rain, blood stains, and a vain ego that never wants to let go; show me the error of my ways, dark father, dark prince, my velvetine prince- my one whole and true- I need something, someone to pull me through the long night ahead and the even longer hospital stay once I wake up tomorrow morning and realize nothing has changed, but everything rearranged, as it always does; because I'm nothing without you, but I'm even less when I'm with me; never so cryptic in the company of others, but I'm always speaking in riddles when I'm alone- I find it comforts the voices, the noises inside my head, whispering sweet lullabies to me when I'm dying in bed.

   

  I wrote some pretty good prose poetry a while ago. I felt it was necessary to try my hand at it again. Okay, so it ain't that good but I like rambling incoherently in a prose style. Makes me feel more insane than I really am. For the record, I really have no goddamn idea what this is about. I kid you not. I'm just so sick and tired of reading textbooks and other bullshit I don't care about I was on the verge of going crazy without writing something for myself. The first part is the only part that makes any logical, rational sense: I've been angry all my life.

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