Let go of the vile feeling inside
Allow the hooks in your skin to rip through
Let them bleed for awhile
Knowing your scar only proves victory
If your head sways let it hang low
But do not drop it
For it is your biggest successor
If your heart beats too fast
Like a machine gone wild
And your eyes tear up
From the cold breeze coming in
Put on another layer
Breathe a little deeper
Be safe inside your skin

Can you capture my pain
with your photographic heart?

Can you whisper my name
through a telegraph or card?

The pictures I cut, I kept.
The pocket I thumb, you left.

Your voice is like a train whistle
Coercing me towards delusive home
A siren by the aisle
Whose lulling call is deafening to my ache.

In dreams I hear nothing
In dreams I hear only your name.

Won't you bide the waves?

Vision is clear
And the skies lovely
Chase the falling leaves
Never the birds above


Not born with wings
We raise the sun
Chase never a race
When we digress


We aren’t wandering souls
Still young though
To chase on
Till we die

He was a civil war
and I died trying to be a soldier

you are eighteen and you're in love
with a boy who hates his birthday.
you don't know it yet,
but the world gets so much bigger than the back of his car.
you think he needs you to be happy and so does he
but both of you are wrong.
it'll take you almost a year to stop crying.
and then you don't talk for another three
and when you finally do,
he thinks he still knows you,
but your heart is heavier than it was then.
and you **** him because you're lonely
but it isn't the same.
neither of you can fake love.
at least he still makes you laugh.
you'll pretend it's enough
because at least he's a body.
at least you're not by yourself.
at least you're alive
and you're good at *******.
because bodies are distractions
from the things we hide inside them.
you have him inside you
and he wants to gut you of your ugly, your sad.
he scrambles for an excuse not to stay the night
and you laugh.
you know what this is and how it goes
and you both love someone else.
you swear you won't **** him again
but you do anyway because you're still lonely
and you like the way his hands fit around your neck.
you **** him because it's good for your art
and you get bored of your own hands on your body
and you're fine with letting him feel useful.
and you think about when you were sixteen
and how *** was supposed to be special
and it makes you cry
because you're not who you wanted to be.
it makes you cry, because the world got so much bigger
after you left the backseat of his car.
the world is so big and you don't know
how it ended up on your shoulders.
you would have died for him.
you have been ready to die for every person you have ever loved.
you have dreams where he dies
and you can't save him.
you have dreams where people die
and you can't save them
and you're the one who tied your hands.
your mangled heart and all its bleeding.
nobody asked you to die.
what good is all the love in your chest
if you don't leave any for yourself?

- m.f.