Matthew Rousseau

People may pretend to care
And volunteer to work
But after work they turn on the cold stare
In their hearts hate is what lurks
...

She’s as small, yet beautiful
as the budding spring leaves
She’s as radient and strong
as a summer day
...

For Liandra:
We sit and stare into oblivion
Trying to decide how to move forward
We are all lost in our own lives
...

I concentrate for a week and produce an hour of homework
Trapped, buried or lost, there seems to be some sort of leak
I don’t why it has to be in the thinking process of my brain
However, My focus becomes as good as a de-railed train
...

I stand at the fair
And watch all of the people there
I see them having fun
But my fun is already done
...

In the Distance I see vast mountians upon mountains of waste
there are forgotten dreams and hopes
like when little Jimmy wished he could ride a bike
or how Jill dreamed she would become famous
...

I’m in a decent to hell
A place that people despise
The wicked go there
And never come back
...

The lost cause
the child of depression
he sits alone
writes by himself
...

It’s raining and you’re tainting
your thoughts with shots
of depression and regression
Feeling so alone, hoping not to be renown
...

I haven’t slept in so long
like new penguin father longing for his mate
like a cold winter
I wait and wait
...

Another one decides to meet me to soon
another one I’ll have to throw in the fiery lagoon
I have a busy job as it is
deciding fate, It’s no debate
...

They scurry around, looking for another unfortunate sheep
To drown in their schemes of lies and deceit
They beat the child under clear blue skies
and turn that child into a black sheep
...

I was broken,
My heart shattered beyond recognition
I gathered up the pieces,
and retreated into remission
...