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.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

God bless those poor souls
also, *****'s half price the
next fifteen minutes

Before you even meet her,
    you know she's different.
You see it in her name, her eyes;
    the way she walks.
She carries confidence on her shoulders,
    a song in her hips
to which she'll always stay on beat
    with.

Her eyes will remind you of the Earth,
    with wings "so sharp they could **** a man".
Her will is as strong as her hands,
    for they have held so much pain,
but yet have mended everyone but
        herself.

You can never get enough of her.
   She's like a song you play on
repeat and never get tired of,
   if you have good taste in
           music.

She's either your best friend or a
   stranger,
and though she's an open book,
   only a few can read
between the lines.

Well, you got me
There, I said it:
I love you and
I love you madly and
I’m not as drunk as you think and
I want to be with you forever
And, Hello? Are you still there?
Talk to you tomorrow.
Goodnight…
So thanks for that,
Ironing my thick skin
So that it’s paper-thin.
I’m feeling
A little more vulnerable
Than yesterday,
A bit more ashamed
To put these emotions
To my name.
Thanks for tricking me,
You’ve proved me naïve
And if I weren’t so busy
Being thankful
I’d probably be ******
That the sun never rises
Exactly when it’s supposed to
And that you drove
In and out of my life
Without
Even breezing through
The rest stop.

We bleed red rainbows,
for disbelief in the system of destroying ourselves
Delving out raw humor,
emotions into the void of unavoidance.
I was lost in a trance,
watching the fractals explode of the mirror,
of the reality we fight,
for no reason but to make sense of
the pentagram ***** staining my jacket|
with a memory.
I try to sweep that bittersweet memory,
off the foot of my bed,
to shed my cocoon of self loathing,
to become a mechanical butterflying by
the space time continuum,
of unconscious breath,
fogging the mirror,
watching yourself,
a fly on the wall whispered a secret,
rusting wings need
oil on the rig
before the dab hits the nail,
inhale,
that memory before you hit the ground