Sat on a log of a broken tree
gazing the calm flow of the river
with the peeking Sun light
on the flowing rusty leaves
recalling the times spent,
fights fought, kisses she kissed,
with her half opened dreamy eyes.

I was not dead, Yet never alive.
Atleast not on the present.
My thoughts, that none cared.
Meaningless words to all, Yet
she was the all for me.

Now I sit, staring on the stream,
in solitude with my lost self,
with a vision of someone,
rubbing my fingerprints off of her.

I wonder if when
He's falling asleep
Through his mind
Pass thoughts of me
Do they remind
Of how things were
How they could still be
Or do they just blur?

you are surreal
from what i see, i feel.

kneel before me, i'll reveal
the brush i paint the faint of heart with.

i give color to the artless,
i give color to the darkness

but you my darling,
you are my artist.

© Matthew Harlovic

An addiction to the color named red,
An affinity to feelings of dread,
Like waterfalls and raindrops, I feel drenched,
Clothed in a gown of crimson red is death.

Hemophilia causes excessive blood loss,
Just by being touched, you bloom like a rose!
Like roses with thorns that bleeds it's color.
To me who's bleeding out, "You're just a pose!"
I scream out with anguish, a quiet pause.
I lay in a pool of ****** dolor...

To me, you're lips are just like spikes and thorns,
With flowery words born from blooming roses,
As if an explosion of gray matter,
Were your poems that made me bleed all-out.

Yesterday morning, I drove into work
Under the grey tint of a sunless morning
I couldn't feel my hands on the steering wheel
And my eyes recognized not the roads I've traveled
The roads I've seen for almost twenty one years, since I was a child
I'm not present in my own body
Cut off from space-time itself

The worst part about anything that's self destructive is that it's so intimate. You become so close with your addictions and illnesses that leaving them behind is like killing the part of yourself that taught you how to survive."