Where are you? Or where am I? Where’s God? Where’s the world heading? Why am I the way I am? Why are you the way you are? All vain questions remain with no answers and I’m done trying, searching for an answer that would alkalize my bitter acidity or tranquilize my electricity. It all seems so vaguely distorted, it all hurts. The feeling never left me, the only thing that has ever been there for me constantly. Empty, empty, empty, made a home out of the void, made peace with anxiety. So silence please wash me.

Here you are still, once again, or shall I say, more than ‘once’..  
When was the last time you actually felt worthy? Not as much towards the universe because that’s a tremendously scary huge scale; but to the ones around you, to your daily use objects and mostly, to yourself. Have you ever felt it? If not, what were you truly feeling? And please tell me something new, something other than the one and only numbing ‘emptiness’ that has always lingered in the cavity of your chest.
That has always lingered in the cavity of your chest and ribs, so strong and powerful that it made your heart beat faster than its normal pace, each speeding pulse giving a booming sound that echoed in the linings of your stomach and vibrated your walls of the intestines. It made you sick darling, made you sick that you almost vomited your entrails inside-out, it made your often spinning head upside-down as the adrenaline rush increased as if some ominous shadow has been chasing you.
You’ve felt it, your blood heating up, its boiling point exceeding a hundred.  
You know what’s funny? Your frosty cold limbs, the tip of your nose. Your bruised knuckles cracking in harmony as you spoke in low tones just to keep the act of communication going. “Ouch”, now your jaw hurts too from smiling but that’s good! Good, unless it’s not from the bottom of your heart.
And now your friends keep asking, your mother keeps asking, your room’s walls keep asking: “When will you change your outfit?” and all you ever say:
“Someday, but not today.”
If it concerns you, what’s that outfit again? “Not okay.” I’d say.

i have racked my mind
trying to figure this whole thing out
the staying, the going
the threads we claim hold us here
& the people who've stopped to play a tune on them
i sometimes relate it
to waking up in waist deep snow
in our former selves
the us we wish we could give one another
the children we've sat on the shelves
trapped, like the looks
we leave behind in snow globes
i sometimes imagine ships
dragging the bottom to the sea of "me"
for sleep & pieces of my old self
to sell to the new one
like history doesn't repeat itself
it gets me wondering
if you too want an apology from the rain
or if you dream of burning family photo albums
and wearing the ashes like perfume
if you're anything like me
how i hope god chokes
on memories of me blowing out candles as a child
i know i shouldn't reference my reader  
but don't you know, the only difference
between alone & lonely is you?
that if my hands could talk
the only thing they'd be able to say
is "dear god we've missed you"
and how can you tell me it isn't love
when even the rain refuses to fall
in places where i've kissed you
i remember the day
you found my smile at a yard sale
it reminds me of how you'll leave
i wonder if when you go
you'll tell yourself
the person in the rear view mirror
is closer than they appear

i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.

- m.f.

Here you are, in the middle of the day, or shall I say, since the moment you’ve went to bed last night, you had hardly found sleep. You just cannot differentiate between the days anymore because they are all the same.
And as for the moment you’ve woken, you’ve cursed the sun for rising as if it were the reason for your sadness. Was it? Maybe the thought of a “Good-morning” had never existed in your dictionary of words, because everyday you’d wake up even more broken than the night before and if that makes any sense to you, I hope you feel me. Feel me, not sympathize with me. But what would your empathy serve me? Nothing. After all, you cannot save people, you just have to listen to them and tell them that someday, somewhere, everything will be alright and of course, they will not believe you. Because when you are standing in a dark forest, you cannot expect someone to talk to you about the sun when it hasn’t risen, yet. “Yet” is what you try to convince them when as a matter of fact, they had never seen it. At least not clearly bright and shining.