You told me not to be sad
When the rain starts pouring,
I should dance and enjoy
Under the rain.

So that's what I did,
Dancing to the beat of the taps
As the rain falls,
Remembering you.

But you were like the rain,
Just when I'm in the heights of my emotions,
Just when I was falling hard for you,
You stopped, left.

You left me cold and wet,
You know,
You could have been
The arms that wrapped me tight.

Art is good
medication so you'll
deal with this creatively.

You've careened into this so
make the wreck,
the chaos
bloom on a page.
It might even help.

You're going to be a comic book artist
because in the face of such things
words fail and lips
falter,  and you
want to knock your head comedically.
You want
to conjure silly star-loops for
smashing into this
feeling.
Knocked-out.
Reeling.
Draw, draw out
and ink in your malady.

Crash!

The worst is when
your heart is the caricature.
A full-page feature,
a splash,
of high-strung colours
begging to be neatened.

Splash!

Your
cartoon heart. An
image of a fat, crimson
apple
like a clip-art pic, got
a little worm poking through
it.

Eating, eating away
to leave a love
or loss-sized hole.
Fat white bubbles announcing
hurt!
so graphically.

Go on and
draw it more lurid. If
the feeling is here, you might as well
feel it.
Let the slops of gaudy red
and green
bleed and
bleed
out of the panel.
Stain it, stain
the gutter
where time happens.

At least it gives the comic
a heartbreaking!
twist.

And then you turn the page.

He wants to be left alone

Just leave him alone
Just leave him alone

Alone in parks
Or at the gym

A solitary life
It is God's will
Just for him!

He is content to be broke
And live in
His suburban home

Matt thoroughly enjoys
Composing poems

Hissing shrieking sounds
How am I supposed to sleep?
Demons, quiet down

I have lived myself into a box
I can hear people talking and laughing on the outside
sometimes I can even see light through the cracks in the walls
but no matter how hard I try to climb
throw my self against the invisible walls
shout into the silence that surrounds my heart
I am all alone in the dark

Saints and pychos are not born,
but created
by a world without meaning
where nothing at all is sacred.

I have no plans.
I've lost my sense of self.
I'm on the edge something dark.
I don't think
I can be helped.

I always wanted to make the world a better place.
But I'm not used to getting what I want.
The world has kicked me
in the face.
And a growing hatred starts to haunt.

I don't know what's coming
but it doesn't look good.
Something terrible grows inside me.
Keep your distance, I think you should.