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.

Happiness is infectious
and so is unhappiness

I thought evil was only something you saw on the news.
Only something you read in the Bible, sitting in the pews in church
and reading about the hoardes of Jews who hurt
because God had something better waiting for them after the pain.
After the strain
put on the heart of my mum,
there'd better be some handsome sum sitting at the end of the road
and 3 handsome sons walking along the road too.
Walking towards the Holy Land,
hand-in-hand
and standing up to the man who held his hand to our faces and slapped them,
letting his family slip through his filthy fingers like sand.

But sand is better off on the beach than it is in somebody's palm,
and if this infectious unhappiness
is just travel sickness
en route to a sunny beach, lined with palms,
where we can stop reading Exodus
and start singing Psalms,
then I think, and I hope, I can put up with a little more time in this car.
Are we nearly there yet?

To taste the sugar on your lips,
to float on the mist that is in your breath,
to be the sparkle in your eye,
to cherish me always until I die.

As he paces,
his heart races.
A thousand unknown faces
fill his head and he amazes
himself that he still gets so annoyed;
so sickeningly distraught
at the thought of other boys
using her as their toy.
A one-off meeting,
A nervous smile and fleeting glance
at her red lips.
A brush of the fingertips.
A passionless kiss.
But a story nonetheless
of the girl in the tight dress
who you managed to impress
at that birthday party.
You were both a bit of a mess,
but who even cares?
It's a part of growing up:
Tongue to tongue and have a ****
of his face.
Please enjoy, Lady Ace,
the sentiment and the grace
of the young 'innocence' that still dismays
the one who actually cared.
Who actually stared
into your eyes for something deeper.
Something warmer and true
Someone in love with you,
with a dream for every day
and an endless desire to play
with your hair as well as your *** -
who cares and shares in your sass,
with kisses born from more than a crass
lad with his Hollister shirt on
and a wallet stuffed with hopeful condoms.

A voice sings.
A bird flies whose wings have previously remained unscretched.
Its song grows stronger with each whistled lullaby.
A burden inside is lifted into the air.
Weightlessness encourages tears.
The heaviness flows from within, and the bird flies alongside its friends.
She weaves in and between them, flying beside and above and below, and always with them.
They care for each other
They love each other.
Flight is not for transportation unless the destination is another world; another realm; another peace of mind.
Pieces of mind, thrown like cards onto the table
Placed like a baby into a cradle.
Silence falls, for she is scared her next note might roll down her cheeks
Roll wetly down her cheeks and shivering down her spine.
Beauty invites a shiver down the spine.
It says "Come in. Be warm. Be touched."
Warm breath flows.
Open hearts invoke terror
If you think she sang beautifully, then tell her.