to everyone who's calling me....*i am no longer the person you're looking for.

and as the eclipse meets the eye of a fish
so does the Holy Spirit stand in your midst
please go and find for yourself, that one day you may realize
how much more there is than what meets the eye
does the fish ignore what is outside of the water or does he respond
by any chance is there any astonishment in that consciousness of a fish
but before you think of it
decide for yourself whether you would gain from it or not
would that fish desire to know about it or even try to live for it
'*** little does that fish know
that eclipse is what controls the tides

this is an open letter to anyone who has the audacity to try and love you like i did.

dear whateverthefuckyournameis,

i apologize in advance for spilling my boiled blood on the hem of your skirt. what you need to understand, is that you are standing on ground previously reserved for my feet, so forgive me for any bitterness that seeps through the cracks in my clenched fists. i don't hate you, but i can't be your friend. you probably don't know about me, and if you do, let me commend your bravery. i have a tendency to set my problems on fire, and in my bouts of anger everything looks flammable, especially girls with paper complexions. i'm sorry. i have never been one to walk away, so i don't know how to explain to you the holes in the bottoms of my shoes. but i have been further than you will ever go. this is not supposed to be an angry letter, but lately that's the only thing coming out of me. i don't even know your name but the thought of your hands reaching for him makes we want to break them. i will douse your dreams in gasoline and strike the match against your cheek. but i know that's not right, see, the poison crawling out from the end of my pen belongs to a scarier version of myself i try not to know. my heartache is an insatiable war cry in the dead of night, that will stop at nothing to shatter all your windows. it shames me to admit that i've found a sort of twisted satisfaction in using passive aggression to breach your armor. i am sick with missing a set of arms i was not privileged enough to know. i speak with all the grace of an atom bomb and wonder about the rubble at my feet. you are white picket fence and i am barbed wire. some girls are lions, some are lambs, and i learned to love, teeth bared and snarling. one of the only things that keeps me going is the hope that one day i'll learn how to love something without making it bleed. i may have never been his, but for a time he was mine, so please understand why i taste acid when i think about your mouth on his. again, i am sorry. i know it is not my place to be so full of resentment, but there is a part of me that sincerely hopes it bothers you to know he dreamt of me before you were even a thought. there is a side of me that thrives on the image of the color being drained from your face when you read this. but i am trying to learn how to be softer. this letter is the manifestation of a self-inflicted war that has been raging in my chest since he first told me about you. you will try to be good to him, and you might even succeed. if you ever find yourself singing him to sleep, like i did, don't ask if he wants to hear another song, just keep going until his breathing slows.

- m.f.

but not the crying kind of sad
the kind of laying in bed sad
where minutes turn into hours
and hours turn into days
that i haven't gotten out of bed
because there's no point
and no purpose
maybe in a different world
i'd be getting out of bed for you
but because of mistakes
and bad decisions
and calling it quits
far too early
im here
laying in bed
alone
and im sorry

thinking that flowers, roses especially, are true symbols of love.

they wither and die within days...just like love.

and roses are covered in thorns that cut when you hold them too *tight.

lately
i haven't been able
to decide which is worse;
drowning
under the weight
of the crashing waves
or killing myself
from the thirst
of avoiding them.