Not with a smile spread across my lips
Or an energetic laugh
Making my two friends holler with joy
As I spill out a witty remark.

But rather
With downcast eyes
Glaring at the shadowed pavement
Hoodie dangling from my shoulder
Stack of binders desperately trying to slip from my grip.
The moon beginning to make its descend
Behind the towering bus stop
Teenagers huddling around each other
Whispering into the muggy dawn.

My brain fuddling with sleep deprivation
I was always exhausted
Nothing satisfied my body  
Not the ambitions
Pumping in my veins
Strolling down the bustling streets
Of the city that never sleeps
Committed to land a position
As a front page writer
For the New York Times.

This routine of waiting
For a dream so far out of my reach
Is monotonous.
A cycle I can't quit
Even if I was granted the choice

My stomach hurts a lot,
when i worry the most...

i meant, never to say,
but i said the worst...

i hurt you more,
when, bitter words, i say...

i do not know,
what to do or how to repair!

the broken thread,
that still is here and there.

Counting candles


It’s a gloomy Tuesday as the rain falls all around.
The sound of church bells sums up the irony of this day; so down.
Another void future, a distant horizon pulls away from me.
Frozen in place; my heart is empty.


In this fragile state of mind,
I just don’t have the strength to self-hate.
I love to loathe, but what is the point?
People walk on by as I stare at my feet; I am without a choice.
Love life’s hand-break is keeping me in this state.
A heart divided; I cannot give this love away.


Romance is a stranger to my life.
Everybody is in love, it seems, to the one who cannot even try.
Last chance I took turned into a joke.
I laughed at my luck for I am a fool without hope.
I trust in the failure when I fail to trust.
I love my misery; it does not ask me for love.


I’m counting candles in a church;
So many old flames have gone out.
One day I will give up searching for love
And leave you all to be happy without me…
But that time is not yet now.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

spoiled milk and wilted flowers dried up like tobacco
and all the air musty the litter and entropy of it pulls at your
attention. roaches and moths and junebugs tapping against
the glass or skittering
across your floor, climbing up the walls and into a corner
eyeing me probing the air with its antennae.
oil caked on the glass thoughts in my head
spurting red broken bones and shredded muscle
deliciously sinewy.

flush it down. inhale and head rush legs weak smile written across my face as my mind
recoils in terror and confusion
the world waves and warms. it shines.

nag champa blackwood currents and shisha
oily anticipation. just a few hours now and there will be reprieve
i can go back and heal from this confusing binge.

skies are blue. helicopters hover their way over the city and suburbs.
the tower spins its light. floating and warmed I wander back home.

the dreams might be hellish
sleep might not come at all
the time it takes to readjust is staggering.
yellows shades and water and lots of **.

now to disappear completely. leave the damage.
not a trace of yourself though.
run a massive burn
and then escape unnoticed.
sayonara.

It may be grey and gloomy,
out on the moors,
but we have our cozy world,
inside of doors!
Our world is secret and snug
and looks out on plaintive air;
a sprawling country field with
blowing mists thither and who knows where.
We'll have our tea and our stories
and our expectant silences.
We'll let the bleak backdrop of time ebb
and flow, while we admire a vase of Irises.
Ours is a curious cradle of contentment --
just two friends living
a shared imagination against
a mad world, rife with resentment!
We'll spend the hours and stay our journey for
we have peered through the looking glass
and finally come to know:
our trip is spontaneous and
it doesn't matter which way we go!