Fake hair
Fake name
Fake nails
Fake game

Fake smile
Fake tan
Fake brow
Fake can

Fake laugh
Fake lips
Fake brow
Fake ****

Buried deep
Under all this fake
Is a girl
With money t' make

sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record
of all the times i have been left,
all the times i have been unable to leave.
i wonder if he thinks to himself,
"when will she learn?"
as if he feels my heartache too.
i picture god with a furrowed brow,
hunched over a typewriter,
beginning me again and again,
a mountain of crumpled paper at his feet.
but somehow -
he always ends up at the same point in the story
where i am all ****** palms
and half-hearted hallelujahs
propped up on bruised knees.
spitting up blood & teeth at his feet screaming,
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?"
but he doesn't answer.
and i catch myself wondering if the silence
is his way of punishing me for making a deity out of you.
after all, the bible says he is a jealous god.
i could've sworn there was a verse somewhere
that said you weren't allowed to love anyone other than me.
but now that i think about it,
i probably took it out of context.
if i could add a parable to those already existing,
it would be how your chest
felt like church under my head,
and how i thought to myself,
"this is how it would be if he loved me back."
or how you fled my bedroom like a crime scene.
i am still bleeding.
i won't tell you how many times
i cracked my heart in half
trying to be what you wanted.
how my lips on your skin felt judas.
now i am waiting for god to begin me once more,
hoping he'll leave you out of the plot this time
because i don't think i could stand to lose you again.
see, rumor has it he knew you'd leave
and has been trying to make it up to me
since before we'd even met.
my song is one of repentance.
the wood finish from abandoned pews
rotting under my fingernails.
i made sacrifices you didn't ask for.
i have never known
whether my inability to abandon people
is more a strength or a weakness
but so far everyone i've ever loved
has turned into an exit wound,
and myself into a flickering no vacancy sign.

- m.f.

I’ve a general practitioner, a psychiatrist and a psychologist
(who’s leaving but I’ll panic about that later)

I’m on 4 different psych meds

Adderall, XR 25mg P.O.
(So I can be motivated, focus and concentrate), Daily

Klonopin, 0.5mg P.O.
(For panic attacks, social anxiety, generalized anxiety), As needed

(Translation:Constantly)

Buspirone, 10mg P.O. (For depression and generalized anxiety),
3 times daily – Useless

Remeron, 15mg P.O. (For depression, anxiety and insomnia),
Daily, at night – Only helps you sleep

Even with all that, I can barely get out of bed in the morning,
coffee’s no help

I can’t really sleep much, waking times a night,
sleeping restlessly if at all

Going to class is a nerve wracking nightmare – as is going out –
but I do it anyways

A panic attack surrounded by people is better than
solitary madness and cabin fever

Like a slave, to a handful of bitter little pills just barely keeping you afloat, unable to hack it alone

While everyone else seemingly can push on through life without them

Falling behind, despite the stupid little pills

Watching as the world goes on around you, spinning sickeningly

While you wish desperately to be normal,
with a million colliding thoughts in your head