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Maddie Renee Jan 2015
I can twist and spit insults with fevers of 105.
I've got sick skills...... (See what I did there)
  Jan 2015 Maddie Renee
LETITFXRING
I  will dream with my eyes open when
N* ight comes
S eeing things I don't see when I do sleep
O ver analyzing the littlest things and
M aking up poems after poems
N ot mattering how late
I t is,
A nd I can't help but  
*--write--
When I'm most active to write,
Maddie Renee Dec 2014
Waste (wāst) v.     (1.) To use, consume, spend, or expend thoughtlessly or carelessly:    For hours on end we laid waste beneath the plastered moon. Our hands mimicked the stars weaved between a silked sky. The grass imprinting tallies into our back.      
(2.) To cause to lose energy, strength, or vigor; exhaust, tire, or enfeeble:  The tar wasted your lungs. It was the nicotine talking. We could never have a safe argument and now you are telling me that I am too much of a nice guy. Nicotine is the crutch between the crunch in the cracks that pry through the truth.      (3.)To fail to take advantage of or use for profit; lose: You wasted an opportunity to be with me. You are missing the reverberation of our laughs under the viaduct, and the tickle attacks when we played hide and seek.    (4.) a. To destroy completely. b. Slang. To ****; ******. The cigarettes wasted our relationship. My eyes couldn't take the second hand jaundice, being the second pair of wells you flipped your wishes into, this second pairs of eyes that understood you. Now they draw blank when they see you.     (5.) Garbage; trash. You had the audacity to keep your lips coiled to the cigarettes, than throw them in the waste basket. Countless weeks of me having to take them off your counter, from inside your purse, your backpack, I chose to become your waste basket. I carried your four year burden in my pockets. (6.) Regarded or discarded as worthless or useless. You were a waste of my time, a waste of my feelings, wasted space in my life.
I’ve been babbling in Babylon with all the scholars
dabbling with dreamers,
thinking like a toddler,
mocking the monsters
dancing at the masquerade
and walking with the wickens waiting for my wake.
I’ve been rambling in Rome,
hanging with the hippies,
skipping some stones,
gambling with gypsies
getting dizzy with the drunken monks,
putting pity parties on for the pacified punks.

© Matthew Harlovic
'As toddlers we sat on that
timber floor, playing like wolves.
You tugged on my collar,
lifted my chin and made a promise
that we would be brothers
till death did you part.
But death didn’t do a part
in breaking up our pack.
Throughout the years you taught me
how to hunt and gather
my props, you taught me
how to front and swagger,
you wanted me to be at my best
before you left. But you never told me that
you had to leave.
Then when you started to stray, I tried to trail
your footprints, thinking that you were just
past that tree line waiting for me to catch up.
But the farther that I went, the farther
we grew a part. I can forgive you
for never giving me a warning
but those years that I fought
as a lone wolf still haunt me.

© Matthew Harlovic
If independence is intended
for the masses is the Average Joe
as abnormal as the status quo?

© Matthew Harlovic
Two-sides, one mind, it isn’t easy to think.
Don’t blink but lip sync the lies fed from your shrink
The missin’ link is tied to the rails of our genes
Tinker with the braille when you rip apart the seams
I’ve seen kingdom come but it's visits are brief
Pay mind to the thief, small talk isn’t cheap
I keep to myself and that man in the mirror
Sharin’ one stare, my character is clear
The gears are still spinnin’ jenny, well enough
Peers leave in a feedin’ frenzy call it tough love
When push comes to shove we rid our resistance
Flexin’ up the shell, tryin’ to counter inhibitions like...

Flight or fight, it's a rite of passage
so you better be able to manage
Flight or fight, it's a rite of passage
so you better get those loose ends fastened

Just give me a second to make my amends
Anchor it down, bound it by fisher’s bend
Let’s pretend that your “friends” are backin’ you up
But the sum of one sums up your lack of trust
Yup, don’t dilly-dally, tally up some bums
If yah in the blind alley at the end of the run
Well you better have a pair of iron giant lungs
For if and when the worst is yet to come

Flight or fight, it's a rite of passage
so you better go and grab a bandage
Flight or fight, it's a rite of passage
so tell me what the damage is kid

© Matthew Harlovic
A little ditty about the fight or flight response. Read it here or better yet, check it out at: soundcloud.com/outtatune-1
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