i think maybe i only love you because
you're older, because you have large hands
that have held more than mine ever will

(or maybe it is because instead of choosing to
hold the world, you chose to hold me)

travel with me
walk around forgotten lakes and abandoned forests
make them feel loved again

travel in me
grace the veins under my skin and float around my lungs
make me feel loved again

this is a poem dedicated to distance.
to every time i have wanted to kiss you, but couldn't.
to every time i looked at my empty hands and thought of yours.
to every time i was in a crowded room and secretly hoped that i'd find your face.
to every happy couple we see that inadvertently mocks our inability to be near each other.
to every time i've played your laughter over and over in my head to drown out the silence.
to every time you just wanted to hear my voice, but i was busy.
to every missed call and every undelivered text and every time your internet was down.
to every miscommunicated statement and every typo.
to every time that one of us was asleep when the other needed them.
to every time you wept and i wasn't there to hold you.
to every self-destructive tendency we share.
to every pill your mother has hidden and every razor blade i have flushed.
to every worry that plagues my consciousness whenever you take long to reply.
to every night we have been together through a screen, but alone in our beds.
to every, "i miss you" and "i wish you were here".
to every broken-record apology that never makes it better.
to every makeup stain that mars the sweater you sent me so that i could
feel like i was sleeping with you (and to the fact that it doesn't smell like you anymore).
to every hour, every minute, every second of difference in the time between us.
to every dollar i don't have, and every time i wished for your chest against my back.
to every, "why are you even with me?" and "you could do better".
to every spectator and cynic that has told us we'd fail.
to every doubt of mine and to all your jealousy.
to every ounce of water in the pacific ocean.
to every ******* mile between my head and your chest (i checked, and there are 9,752).

you will not win.

- m.f.

she wears 12 human teeth around her neck and when i ask why she tells me it's art
but i cant help but wonder where she got those teeth and if she made the necklace or did she buy it?
are they real teeth or just molds of something that used to be?
and is she a sick psychopath or just an unusual artist?  
as the weeks go by i touch the teeth they're real, they're human, shes sick
there's 14 teeth on the string now and she holds them in her palms
tears down her face she plucks, like petals, the teeth, shes sick

grabs her hair, cuts chunk by chunk off her head
i grab the knife still she cries she wont let go shes sick
we walk in the house, bodies,
bodies!
dismembered people strewn about her kitchen
how can the neighbors stand the smell?
i count, one two three fourteen shes sick, dear god, she's sick!
she cries she screams look what I've done!
its art! she cries it's art!  

the sirens come close who called?
thirty i mean sixty men push through the door surround
put our hands on our heads why me ?!

i scream she screams our hands go up
i close my eyes make it stop please god just make it stop
open shes gone i turn around the cops aim straight
flashes flashes flashing back to the night
its me, it's me, dear god, i'm sick!