you tell the truth when you sleep
the people you mind
the secrets you keep

you tell the truth when you're alone
and that's probably why
you can't hear it

we make use of what we own
the things that we keep
the bits that we find

and always give back what we loan
when we don't need it
give it a try

The last time you called me,
you asked how I was holding up.
I said I was fine, but I should
have told you to read my page.
Since you dumped me, my thoughts
ended up here. I wish you would
scroll through my poetry, starting
with the ones in February because
perhaps then you would understand
how I was holding up.

© Matthew Harlovic

You are that warm and cozy feeling
that rests beneath my lips.
You are the winter time chills
You are a metaphor for beautiful.
In every sense of the word.

You're the knife stabbing me
I'm the one holding it

I see your face
and all I see is the ***** behind it.

Abused
Used
But
I fell for it
It was great
But now I hate
The thing we call "love"
Every man that comes along think they are in a place above
But they push and shove
Then we are back to abused
Used

Coffee will be your life
Everyday at college you'll pray not to stab your professor with a knife.
You hope to find a nice guy
When it fails, you won't wanna try
But he will come along.
You might have the voice for song
You'll probably have a cat
However he's probably dead
We don't know where he's at.