i told my doctor that  
i've had thoughts of suicide

i told him that sometimes
i press the flesh of my palms against my windpipe
and try to force the good things out of my ***** lungs

i asked him
after the years of erosion,
will my face still be my own?

he said, no
so i clasped my hands around my neck
to keep from breathing

this air that doesn't belong to me
this air i do not deserve
this air that will never be my own

When he finally asks what’s wrong, tell him that he’s really just too good for you and you're afraid that one day he’ll wake up and realize that he could sleep with so many better women.
When he leaves the apartment and gets in the back of a taxi cab at two in the morning, don't follow him.
Maybe even though you saw him with another woman, laughing and joking in a smoky bar with their heads held close together, you still think you have a shot with him.
You don’t.

Dress yourself up if for no other reason than making yourself feel good. Put on your tightest, tiniest little black dress and some high heels and have a dance party in your own room with the stereo blasting.
Throw away his photos. Delete his texts, crumple up his notes and slot them into the paper shredder like old credit cards.
Thinking about him is dangerous; do not lie in bed in a quivering heap for days at a time. Do not mope or hit the snooze button simply so you can drift off to sleep and dream about him.
Jump in the shower and wash him out of your hair. Scrub your skin raw until you cannot smell him anymore. Wash your sheets. As you take them out of the dryer, practice saying your first and last name with adding his on.

Wreck your journal. This is the required “fresh start” your best friend told you about on New Years. She is tough and practical. Consider being more like her. Decide against it because having an affair with your husbands best friend is not practical.
Let your thoughts flow into questions that you pose to the world. Tell yourself that this is not an unfortunate habit.
Remind yourself that today in the modern world, if you’re single, that doesn't mean you’re missing “your other half.”  There isn't someone else out there running around with two arms and two legs and one head who used to be attached to one side of your body and will eventually find you again, on the street or in a deli or even at an indie rock concert in the back row; there’s just you. An imperfectly perfect human being who likes coffee or maybe hates it and has said awful, regrettable things to somebody else and is still trying to figure out how this whole life thing works.

When you are on the couch of your living room, do not reach out to squeeze the faces in the smoke you blow; do not think of his face. Reach out and draw the lines in your mothers face. She would have wanted you to.

churches―

where cracks on the ceilings are more than construction accidents,
whose floor has seen more discarded invitation letters than dustbins.
the out-of-tune ***** is where the nameless ghost resides
(the one who roams the halls whispering quiet conversations) /
the carpets are imprinted with bruised knees indentations,
the mirrors, with sobbing hunched figures reflections,
and the cement that echo wailed prayers muffled by layers of epidermis and cartilage.

hospitals―

where red stains on the walls are more than careless spillages,
whose rooms have seen more regret than those in Court.
the morgue holds motionless bodies ice cold to the touch
(those who are in line to enter Heaven’s gates) /
the waiting rooms are filled with wilting flowers,
the beds, with saturated salty tears,
and the emergency rooms that cradle desperate On The Knees begging and gasping heartbeats.

i'm hurricane-brained,
and fading faster than i
could hope to explain
- m.f.

if you ever buy me a coffee mug
know that it will become my favorite,
and that i will use it faithfully every day.

but understand, if you ever decide to leave,
i will tell you through gritted teeth
that i never liked it anyway.

i will tell you out of spite that i shattered it,
but that coffee mug will remain in tact,
and collect dust in a corner until you come back.

if you never do, i won't ever use that mug again,
instead i'll fill it with paper clips & pens
and try not to remember that you gave it to me.

- m.f.

Can we get much higher than this?
When all I can hear over the old dial up phone you use is the sound of nicotine exhales
and big sighs caused by silences I am too scared to fill.
Can we love any more than this?
I can hear you humming the song that's spinning and it makes me love you more.
You laugh at my nervousness, how I twitch when you say my name.
I always ignore you because I'm scared you'd say goodbye.
Can we get more tired than this?
Four am, your favorite albums crooning me to sleep.
Could you be more mistaken?
You thought I was scared of your darkness, of the shadows beckoning to you from every corner of
homes you did not own, and people you did not really know... yet.
I have a permanent dent in my ear from piercings that were too heavy for my fragile skin,
and everytime I run my fingertips over it, it reminds me of you.
You are bent but never broken, never broken.
Can we get more distant than this?
It's been months since I could honestly say that I thought you loved me.
So many miles, so many miles, so many



miles...
You're 874 kilometres away from me.
You are universes away from me.
And now everything tastes like goodbye.