I play Magic: The Gathering.
I play video games.
I do both as a means of break in mundanity.
I suppose the way a person reads,
The way a person watches a movie.
Stories within stories in words and then
More stories within pictures
The picture part is great because I can't draw.
I mean I can't write code or balance over
Twenty years of game mechanics but words,
I've got words. I've got the best words.
I smoke weed and I have a lot of weird fetishes
I don't know why. To both of those things.
I have no idea. Weed makes me paranoid and sleepy.
It does other things, too, but I can't describe it well.
I can't describe it clearly. I like drinking pee,
But I've never peed on someone else, so I don't
Know if I'm down with that. I'll have sex with anyone,
But disclaimer, I won't have sex with just anyone,
If you catch my drift. Penis, vagina, whatever, doesn't
Matter but I prefer my fellow queer, or queer minded,
You fucking sickos. I just like getting my mouth on things.
Someone well learned in human sexuality might be
Able to shed some light on that.
I chain smoke and I neglect myself.
And I do both because I am one depressed, self loathing
Fucker with a half hearted death wish or some shit.
I cling really tightly to naivety, but not because I want
It enough to have it around all the time.
I'd say it's only so I don't go down that road again
And self destruct. Figure that one out.
As opposed to abstractly autobiographical
chrysanthemums grow underneath your skin and when you cut it, they bloom.
this is why initially, it feels good.
but after constant exposure to sunlight and air pollution and noise, the scars fade and the flowers begin to die.
so do yourself a favor and protect the hidden treasure that is a garden -
put down the razor.
certain things are best kept unseen.
you called me trash, a piece of garbage
so i collected myself and analyzed what
i brought to the table.
i thought about what i could manage
and determined the effectiveness of
my current strategies
but i concluded that i wasted my
time sorting through my problems.
© Matthew Harlovic
You threw me away
Like I was nothing
you won't even look at me
You lied when you told me
I wasn't your next girl
You lied to me when you told me
you loved me
I was nothing of value to you
I was just
a future piece of trash to you
what did I do that was so bad
Why don't you love me
I know I can't fix things
but what is alive for me is the heat from the agony
The word feels foreign on my tongue
Actions make me run and hide
As if no one could ever love someone
As hideous and dirty as me
That's what you want me to believe
That no one will ever love me for the way I am.
So you sit there and whisper in my ear
It's okay, he can touch you like that, this isn't wrong
But it is
He should treat me better.
For a while,
I told myself that I would figure you out
I would understand why you are the way that you are
I would fix you
But it was never that simple
Sometimes, people hurt people just to hurt them
As if they find pleasure in it
You loved to watch me squirm under your knife.
I always thought you loved me
But now the fog has cleared
And I see that it was lust.
Life is so hard sometimes.
It pulls, taking the table cloth
along with it.
It strengthens, taking the tide
along with it.
talking the moon
out of its misery
wishing it were daybreak
but when day arrives,
the moon wishes it were night.
Round and round we go
on this roller coaster called life.
Hanging on is so difficult
with responsibilities tugging
at the mainframe
about to crumble apart like
break pads crumbling under
the weight of it all.
A pressurized catapult or
catalog explaining the width
it takes to squeeze through
the trash chute without
crushing anything of importance.
Holding our breath
as the bumps become clear
afraid of the coaster
slipping off the tracks
and plummeting into
the frigid unknown.
Luck is only heresy
in this world of uncertainty.
But cars can be fixed,
jobs can be taken,
and bodies can be satisfied
in ways unheard of in reality.
Life is so hard sometimes.
But looking at it with new eyes,
with a combative, stubborn grip
on the cold steel handle,
a roller coaster can be both exhausting and exhilarating
if you know what to look for.
Heavy is the heart that carries him.
Drowning are the lungs that swim in his beauty.
Fragile are the fingers through which time slips fast.
Silent is the horizon.
Blue tinted and red stricken in the sky.
Purple is the drink.
Somber slumber overtakes her weary bones.
Dangerous are her dreams, for they do one of two things.
Deadly are her nightmares, of bullets and back lash.
Tainted is the beauty of her deepest desires, displayed in her subconscious.
Fractal is the universe, of which she is a speck of star dust.
Drawing near is the end of her dealing.
How I precipitate within and around
trash to steam factory's super chimneys
amongst rising glow of cantaloupe colored sky
And why am I?
Beholden to a notion
of fanciful or foolish, concept of nuptials
or why bother to effuse such rubbish encumbrance
Trouble sweats unease
Cold feet, that can't afford proper socks
know the sludging embankments
of Camden Crick (colloquialism of creek)
As it were, a driving force of elopement
An eschewal of plastic bottle heap
Knowing fictile landscapes
with condensations murky in skies,
Grasping for refuge