this is an open letter to anyone who has the audacity to try and love you like i did.

dear whateverthefuckyournameis,

i apologize in advance for spilling my boiled blood on the hem of your skirt. what you need to understand, is that you are standing on ground previously reserved for my feet, so forgive me for any bitterness that seeps through the cracks in my clenched fists. i don't hate you, but i can't be your friend. you probably don't know about me, and if you do, let me commend your bravery. i have a tendency to set my problems on fire, and in my bouts of anger everything looks flammable, especially girls with paper complexions. i'm sorry. i have never been one to walk away, so i don't know how to explain to you the holes in the bottoms of my shoes. but i have been further than you will ever go. this is not supposed to be an angry letter, but lately that's the only thing coming out of me. i don't even know your name but the thought of your hands reaching for him makes we want to break them. i will douse your dreams in gasoline and strike the match against your cheek. but i know that's not right, see, the poison crawling out from the end of my pen belongs to a scarier version of myself i try not to know. my heartache is an insatiable war cry in the dead of night, that will stop at nothing to shatter all your windows. it shames me to admit that i've found a sort of twisted satisfaction in using passive aggression to breach your armor. i am sick with missing a set of arms i was not privileged enough to know. i speak with all the grace of an atom bomb and wonder about the rubble at my feet. you are white picket fence and i am barbed wire. some girls are lions, some are lambs, and i learned to love, teeth bared and snarling. one of the only things that keeps me going is the hope that one day i'll learn how to love something without making it bleed. i may have never been his, but for a time he was mine, so please understand why i taste acid when i think about your mouth on his. again, i am sorry. i know it is not my place to be so full of resentment, but there is a part of me that sincerely hopes it bothers you to know he dreamt of me before you were even a thought. there is a side of me that thrives on the image of the color being drained from your face when you read this. but i am trying to learn how to be softer. this letter is the manifestation of a self-inflicted war that has been raging in my chest since he first told me about you. you will try to be good to him, and you might even succeed. if you ever find yourself singing him to sleep, like i did, don't ask if he wants to hear another song, just keep going until his breathing slows.

- m.f.

My is mind is not my own today,
so please excuse these words i say.
I am not entirely sure what i think and feel,
its difficult to differentiate what is and isn't real.
My mind is playing games on me,
blurring my sight, so i struggle to see,
to undress reality.
There are holes in my thinking,
dents and Im sinking.
Deeper and deeper,
my fight growing weaker and weaker.
My mind is not my own today,
all logic it seems to have been thrown away,
So i sit in dismay,
and apologise
for these vacant eyes.

I've been riding my bike with the seat stolen for months. I've cut down the time that nicotine washes over
my gums to two times a day.
I'm on my way out to a four year
university for the second time
and reduced my drunkenness
to three days a week
it might be tongue in cheek to believe
I'm healed and ready to venture on
but I'm at least going strong despite
everything I've done and seen. My phone screen gleams with a fresh text
"Just for the record, there is nothing I
don't like about you." screen shotted,
only a hands reach away from my pocket, that text might as well be
in a locket

And I sincerely hope,
that you cannot forget,
my cloud nine eyes and sugared lips.

My thin fingers on your chest, eyes flashing under neon lights.

I hope you cannot forget me and every sweet nothing spoken with damp hair and starry lashes.

And I hope everytime you touch her hair, you feel mine under your fingertips.

but not the crying kind of sad
the kind of laying in bed sad
where minutes turn into hours
and hours turn into days
that i haven't gotten out of bed
because there's no point
and no purpose
maybe in a different world
i'd be getting out of bed for you
but because of mistakes
and bad decisions
and calling it quits
far too early
im here
laying in bed
alone
and im sorry

Once upon a lie,
Quite a bit ago,
I thought I had the greatest Prince
That would never let me go.
The Prince wasn't satisfied,
No, not just with me.
So now the Prince is satisfied,
But the princess had let him be.
The princess asked for loyalty,
Is that too much to ask?
Apparently it was,
To hard of a task.
The princess was dependent,
Didn't know how to live for herself,
How to make her self happy,
She didn't need his wealth.
She doesn't need a Prince,
To make sure her castle stands,
All she needs is her mind,
And her two hands
The princess isn't fragile,
She's no longer made of glass,
All she can think is,
Well the Prince can kiss my ***.

What are you searching for at the bottom of that bottle?
Any message to be found, I'm sure you swallowed long ago.
I lose sight of you with every shot glass emptied.

-watch as you grasp at the shadows of the charisma upon which you rely.

You commit to the role of comedian perfectly; ironic
Your wit dulled along with your senses.

- like a court jester with no head to lose.

But someone like you should never play the fool.
"I love you's" mean less when tainted with tastes of whiskey.

And I just want you to want me like I'm that last drop...

I'm not asking you to let me be your sobriety.
I understand dependency...
I know I complicate recovery...

with my red wines and reminiscing.

- and I just want to clear your head like coffee beans...

You tell me I'm intoxicating
- and I don't know how to tell you I don't want to be just another drug.

At one point he realized that if he hugged me hard enough our hugs don’t last as long

It reminds me of the way some people take pills
if you take enough all at one time
perhaps the dosage will be strong enough
to run through your blood like runners in a race
to blissfully declare that it’s all for nothing and nothing for all
that the feeling of my shoulderblades cracking under pressure
is better than overdosing on pills

It reminds me of the way some people gorge on food
because if you eat it all as fast as you can
it takes a few minutes before your stomach feels that its too much
and if you wait to puke it all up in the bathroom of your school after lunch
maybe the feel of ***** and the burn in your throat
is worth the taste of all that food
that you ate too fast to enjoy it

It reminds me of the way some people use their orajel
because if you sit there are you numb one spot
all the other aches are suddenly so appearant
because all of you hurts, doesn’t it?
Not just one tooth, but all the others
and if you numb the one distracting you
suddenly your whole mouth is in disarray
and you hurt everywhere

It reminds me of life support
because a machine pumping what you were born with into your body
reminds me of the way I cling like a child to their mother’s skirts
to you as if you were my only living teddybear
because I know that if you were to walk away one day
I could go on living
and that fact alone makes it that much likely
that you’ll stay even longer

because I don’t think I need you
but I want you around anyway