Maybe I'm foolish
To trust the excuse
"I'm only human"
Just defies the truth

© Matthew Harlovic

the pervasiveness of this type of grief
is hard to comprehend: it's debilitating.
it's the first thing you think about when you wake up,
and it eats at you at varying levels of pain, and anger,
and sadness throughout the day.

onto year two.
jimmy i miss you.

© Matthew Harlovic

Aphrodite.
Ocean girl.
Bleach my bones.
Make 'em look like pearls.

© Matthew Harlovic

tell me you fear me
tell me I scare you
tell me what I wanna hear
and maybe I'll spare you

© Matthew Harlovic

to them or they
here's a brief overview
find me on a bad day
i'll hurt both of you

© Matthew Harlovic

I toss and turn at night nervous the inferno might
swallow me whole if I leave a light burning bright
so I keep to a crawlspace that I call my room.
Home alone, roll the stone, seal me in this tomb.
The Lord will heal me soon. Has the Spirit always loomed
over me since youth? Where's the proof to back the truth?
I opened up about my life of doom-and-gloom to a sleuth
who replied with nothing from across the booth.

© Matthew Harlovic

I sink inside my head
and think about the things I said.
But I often find myself in bed,
catching a wink.
If the world really lies on a thin thread,
am I a fragile link?
If I blink,
will everything I love
and hold dear disappear?
Why do we use such an expression to perpetuate the fear of loss?
Here I thought I beveled and embossed
the impression but it’s just another load
of dross.

© Matthew Harlovic

I’m sorry Dad, I probably won’t be around next year.
Once I graduate I think I’m gonna be out of here.
I only say I think because I’m never really sure
where I’m going and whether I’ll endure.

© Matthew Harlovic

How do I push away the ones who love me the most?
And for what? A burning bush and a chat with a ghost?
Engrossed in the outermost region of thought.
I’ve seen quite a lot; believe it or not.
I sought therapy to discuss my problems
but my trust issues make it tough to solve them.
I must admit the moment we kissed
the world and its the chaos didn’t exist.

© Matthew Harlovic

Dear Sophie,

Most these
nights have been lonely
so I wrote these poems
in hopes that you'd phone me.
I mean, if only.
I would take your hand in holy matrimony
because you've shown me how to be myself.
I know it sounds cliche but I used to keep to myself
like one little incident and my self-esteem might melt.
But now I see myself in a greater view.
I don't beat myself up no pay-per-view.
So I have to thank you for all that you do
You lifted my spirit when I was feeling blue.
Peace to my depression like see ya later dude.
I used to be a mess but then I met you.
You swept up the pieces
when you didn't have to
and I thank you for that.

Sincerely,
Matthew

© Matthew Harlovic

Open casket—open
mind. we closed the
blinds but sunshine
slipped through
the slits.

© Matthew Harlovic

i never had a one-night stand
and i probably never will
because i tend to
get ****** over by guilt.

© Matthew Harlovic

I hope the flowers arrived on time.
I was never much of a “punctual type.”
Though I function, alright especially on the mic
when the speakers bumping something awfully tight.
Got me jumping in my sneakers reaching greater heights
to locate the light bright enough to melt glacial ice.
But twice I’ve been in the inferno wishing to return home
like clicking my heels will take me outta this turmoil.
I learned the most loyal friends are embroiled to the very end—
despite how the road bends. But it takes work on both ends
to make amends when things are blown out of proportion.
I should’ve known endorphins would’ve played my *****
with the sweetest melodies that I should’ve recorded,
but I didn’t have the courage.

© Matthew Harlovic

It’s raining on the South side and I’m outside
watching the flowers with a mouth wide open.
I was soaking up the rays just a few days ago
Now I’m asking myself where’d the sun go?

You stood on the corner in a yellow raincoat.
Weathering the storm and chasing rainbows.
Reclaim those colors, they suit you well.
Be true to yourself like Lulu Belle.

© Matthew Harlovic

i lost my identity
to a friend of me
but it's alright,
we all got our tendencies.
maybe it was not meant to be
but you meant to me
a lot more than the time
you spent on your knees.
not to whine but i can't
get you out of my mind.
think i'm out my right mind
thinking bout what's left
i thought it was high time
to get things off my chest.

© Matthew Harlovic

My music is like Velcro:
hooks and loops fastened together.

© Matthew Harlovic

What loud roar is there present in the night?
Does the bright white sheet cover all to see?
The sound does hum with constant beat and bite.
A blanket provides protection to thee.

A powerful force is blown in your face
as graceful flakes dance around your bare head.
You shield yourself against the whirling lace.
Opaque and silent it becomes widespread.

But will this unique veil protect or harm?
The delicate drops begin to push you
No strength, no power it gives you alarm
Somewhat swaddled your heart beats in rhythm too.

A cold Nor’easter gives quite a great scare.
White drifts protect all in the winter air.

© Matthew Harlovic

Close. Welcoming. My
name. David. Absurdly—I mean, out of
tune. Ordinary language permits
the paraphrase:

Things could have been. But
actually are. Countless ways,
certain descriptions. To consider,
“ways things could have been.”

Things might be. The possibilities,
the propositions, the structures.

© Matthew Harlovic

the second breakup hurts just as much as the first,
but i cannot distinguish which loss was worse.

© Matthew Harlovic

A thought about physical aggression;
A problem on the brink of *******.
To think one owns another is possession
but the path is often taken.

© Matthew Harlovic

An endless darkness of eternal life!
I wanna hear the voice of consolation.
You forget all about internal strife,
dreaming a life without temptation.

© Matthew Harlovic

a child becomes an early heir
when a husband hates himself.
she sits alone blinded by despair,
wishing it was someone else.

© Matthew Harlovic

i wish i learned how to let go from the get go
because i wouldn't have changed faces like a gecko.
her body was a temple i painted art deco,
i fell for her tempo it resonates like an echo.
i tremble at her tone yet her treble let alone
could break any heart made of stone.
she's known to play her part,
she's shown she can master it.
she hits every note,
she's dead accurate.
she's a natural when it comes to the art.
she's outsmart anyone even the likes of Descartes
and depart in the dark just to get a head start.
she's a work of art with beautiful quarks
that set apart the sharp remarks
with the monarch sparks
we shared that night we were in my parked car.
i swear you might be the most astounding star
i have ever found on my radar
but you are by far the very avatar
of a die-hard wild card.
are you barred in?
has the flower child outgrown her garden?
or were you just starving for a greater havest
when you carved out my carcass?
perhaps you're a Marxist
and my work wasn't up to par with your target market.
i thought a monarch was regarded as a god incarnate
yet your true colors were scarlet.
you weaved a web of lies like Charlotte.
have you achieved your dreams yet my darling starlet?
are you set on starring in a different light?
apart from all the starry nights, and sorry fights?
you're such a sorry sight when you hardly ever blink
at anything i say yet everything i think.

© Matthew Harlovic

she cried havoc when chaos spilt from my mouth like milk.
i sunk fangs in her tilted head then i bilked.
i was drunk on pangs of guilt and debunked the whole lies,
the half truths you told Matthew from time to time.

i built a silk pursue from sow's ear but she jilted the gesture
so save the lecture because i won't pester you like the jesters do
because my wounds fester when i'm next to you.
i'm not here for you rescue

when you abandoned ship
from a boon companionship
so exsiccate in the canyon which
i excavated you from.

you grew some ovaries
when you said you were over me
so don't bother overseeing me
overseas.

© Matthew Harlovic

rappers live alone, die alone with a microphone.

© Matthew Harlovic

papa said, we should never forget
where we came from
and who we came with
so I abstain from the famous.
I'll take painfully plain
over one of those faces,
painted with abrasion
so much talent is wasted
because the palette is tainted
- just for the occasion -
it amazes me how
we're lost in the matrix
because the mind plays tricks
when you toss in hatred.

© Matthew Harlovic