Humans.
Different races,
Different colors,
Different traditions,
Different environments,
We've never paid our debts from our wars,
But what got us there anyway?
Differences.
We've never been named brothers.
We've never learned to accept.
We've never learned to love.
But when did we ever?
We all hold a shovel.

As the only sun
dial in my family,
spacetime encompasses
the face of a fallacy.

© Matthew Harlovic

I found my being,
my nothingness,
in a glass of gin.

© Matthew Harlovic

This morning,
my father and I
chased leaves together
after we argued for an hour
on relationship complexities.
And after a while of paved palms,
he bellowed with a fistful of yellow,
when you waver with the wind,
things will fall in your favor.
Since this morning, the wind
has been wavering Eastward.

© Matthew Harlovic

Mr. Snowhiteman,              
You saw her stemmed to her caramel glazed heels.
Her fair white meat was young but not mealy.
She was wrapped in a cloth of crisp ironed red silk skin that glazed her bust and rounded her *****.
You couldn't help but notice the cinnamon that spiced her cheeks.                         Mr. Snowhiteman,              
You introduced her to the enchantment of your poisoned washed walls,
while your fingers became peelers and sliced her silk skin down to her bare meat.                
You couldn't help but take a bite.                           Crisp.                                    
Sweet.                                  
Ripened.                            
Mr. Snowhiteman,                
You were so hungry you left her fair meat bruised.                                
Her skin was peeled off of her,                                And her innocence harvested.

It's teeth gouge through the gloss of my eyes,
I hang there from my skull,
Heavy footed soaked from its saliva
Spine dripping from my back,
I am silent.
It hunches over me,
The humidity from its pores summon the hairs on my body to arise,
Awakens domes erupting from my skin,
I am no longer human, but its apprentice.
It is strong.
Hovering,
Ready to showe me a different phase of my future death.
I pinch myself to rip skin away from a bad bond,
I am sweating and whimpering in fetal position on the sidewalk.

Someone who makes me feel like I matter, is worth much more than matter itself.