The bohemian youth are dancing with the moon
with the night
pressed firmly on their backs
the wind of a thousand seas
they tick like clocks until the world is broken
down at their feet
all around them they build up their anthills
only to play God with magnifying glasses
taking the train or bus
to broke or bust
with cackles echoing off the graying apartment walls
blowing out clouds of intoxication
into the night sky
just so they could call it art
they are building pianos out of old photo albums
and listening to all the songs
they have heard a million times
and yet still do not know
taking the missing pieces out of
abandoned cable boxes
and talking on phones of
styrofoam cups and string
waiting for the day to become night
to stop all of the nonsensical
jibber jabber
with ironic t shirts they found on the side of the road
shooting city crows from the air with BB guns
and eating greasy sandwich after greasy sandwich
in the early hours of morning
beer and beer and beer and disappointment
no noble cause of nobility
for the wannabe outlaw to hang on to
no titanic monolith of strictures to rebel against
just a pair of worn out sneakers
and an empty compass

You sugar-coated the truth,
only to get a sweet tooth.

© Matthew Harlovic

When the cold people come out, come out from their earthy graves,
They creep to your windows, and slip under your doors.

When the cold people come inside, come inside to reach into your whole,
They flood your mind, and rush your soul.

The cold people come into your memories, make scenes seem more sinister than they are,
They make you lash out, leaving to others only fresh scars.

The cold people cause you to leave,
when you shouldn't,
when you usually wouldn't,
pushing you to drastic measure you thought you couldn't.

The cold people are the memories of you, the body of me you buried in your yard.
The pictures we burned, the lesson you never learned.

They only come for me, they will not set me free. But I know you refuse to face yourself, so I hope you're happy, so ignorantly free.

I envy the stars,
For they can go
Billions of years
Before forgetting how to shine
And I could barely go ten.
I was that age when,
The lights behind my eyes
And the lights all around me
Seemed to go dim,
Never again to mirror the sun.

If I could breath fire,
I'd inhale,
And never let it go,
Just to feel alive again,
Just to feel like I was burning
with passion like I used to.

I'm trying so hard
to get over you.

Your scent no longer
lingers in my bed.

Your voice no longer
fills my ears.

Your face is no longer
visible to me

because you aren't
around anymore.

It's so bittersweet
because I want

so badly to see you
and to have you

smile at me and
laugh with me

and be with me,
but being without you

is good for me.
My mind isn't as

clouded as it was
when you were around.

I'm not happy that
you're gone, but

as much as I miss you,
I have to let you go.