put the key in the ignition, the car into drive, and all your gross post-*** insecurities to the back of your mind. forget you don’t have a license. forget she’s asleep in the bed that knows your panic attacks like they’re a late-night tv special and roll out onto the road - don’t hit the neighbor’s buick - drive. drive.

take the route you used to sneak over to your boyfriend’s house in 7th grade. feel the ghosts of his hungry pubescent hands under your bra, get that old lump in your throat, wish you could go back in time and scream that you weren’t ready and that you’d never be ready and that one day you’ll be seventeen driving down his street hating the way he used to own you. remember that his street is also your street. remember that you’re worth owning things too.

pass by the house your best friend used to live in, back when summers meant hot cheetos and horchata instead of cigarettes and cheap sangria. pray that one day you’ll be that way again, happy and fearless and okay with being alone. scold yourself for praying.

forget where you’re going until your stomach growls and the road gets narrow. then keep driving.

i kept my hatches battened but that
didn't stop your love from barreling toward me
like a runaway freight train with faulty breaks.
and god almighty, did we crash.
you came to a screeching halt at my doorstep
and i didn't know what else to do but let you in.
you looked so cold. we did not start with a spark but a full-on fire.
i told myself i wouldn't fall, instead i jumped.
our sinking frames somehow morphed into life preservers,
and we managed to keep each other's heads above the waves.
we had seemingly saved one another.
you tossed your pills, i flushed my razors, and for a while that was enough.
but we learned the hard way that even the deepest love
can only keep the storm clouds in your mind at bay for so long.
eventually our cracks began to show.
missed calls and silent hours built houses of cards
that were blown down by too many miles.
we hardly ever smiled anymore.
my hands were sieves and yours were sand.
i want to break the hands of the clock
that cursed us with this bad timing.
i have mourned all the hours i won't ever have with you.
i have felt the thunder that rumbles in my lungs
when i reminisce about the memories we'll never make.
the moment i realized i would never wake up beside you
an atom bomb went off in the center of my chest.
but the radiation is what's killing me.
the life is being drained from me here in the wake,
in the ache of your absence. but i won't beg.
i will live out the remainder of my days
tormented by wondering if maybe in another world
our love is perfect and neither of us bleed.

- m.f.

percussion pounds painfully pleasant
boom ba dum boom
there is a certain rhythm
to the way people speak
skip across the plains of this globe
and you’ll hear it
at times when I am at my most idle
I can find my hands
going rat tat tat rat
we listen to hip hop
the scratching sound of a needle drop
enough to catch the breath at the top of the path
making your heartbeat stop
I always fancied guitars
strumming your pain with my fingers
but instead i found that words
pop pop pop
out of my mouth
like faulty machine gun fire
I’ll be your rhythmic drum for hire
waiting at the tail end
of all your punch lines
ba dum tish
angry kids pound graphite graffiti onto their desks
which say things like
SOS
Mike was here
School *****
for a good time call X Y and Z
make me an alarm clock
tick tocking in the corner
like your personal circadian metronome
see, people like we
don’t need a megaphone
we just open our mouth
when we knock our messages out
and let them find a place to call their own
a home for the percussionist

if i could paint a picture
of how much i regret the way things ended
it would be a sad assemblage
of pastel blues and greys and blacks
stained with flecks of golden yellow
not unlike the thunderheads currently taking up residence in my head.

If i could write you a letter
it would be yet another failed attempt
at describing how much my very soul aches
for something as simple as your presence.

if i could hold your hand
the nearby flowers would bloom
and the sun would glow green with envy.

if i could kiss your lips
i would certainly lose my mind
and not want to be found ever again.

if i could call out your name
i would hope that the winds would show me pity
and carry my voice to your ears.

if i were to sing a song
it would be a beautiful ballad
every measure dedicated to another flawless part of you.

if i could build a bridge
that spanned across time
it would lead me back to that wednesday in august
in your arms
slipping into slumber to the rhythm
of the raindrops tapping upon the windowpane.

if i could tell a story
it would be of the way the sun chases the moon across the sky;
to urge everyone everywhere to cherish those close to them.

if i could make myself stronger
i would squeeze the earth until
the number of miles between you and i
dwindled down to zero.

if i could look into a mirror
i would be puzzled by what i would see
and find it hard to recognize
the face staring back at me.

if i could give you my heart
i would in an instant.
in the time it takes for my heart to beat its last iambic
i would rip open true ribs one through five
and offer my crimson ***** to you.

if i could have met you any other way
under different circumstances
in a different time
under a different sun
maybe this would have ended differently
or not ended at all.

darkness signals the
retreat into
the shell
of sea-side
sounds.
they whisper
innermost thoughts
of blindness and
profound seconds
of suspended
fallen flowers.

the recluse
can see more
in the deepest night
than the lightest
day.

thoughts circle with
the stars, as the
atrophy of apathy
begins
and the menagerie of
faltering frowns
follows.