Dear Dried Pineapple,

You are my own personal Satan.
Please stop turning up uninvited in my cereal bowl.

Thanks.

Too much beer

makes your tummy fall out!
Too much beer
makes you say hi to Ralph.
Too much beer
makes you forget to get up (get on up), and!, too much beer leaves messages that say, 'I'm here! Where are you?'
Where AM I?
Too much beer makes me laugh and laugh and laugh until I'm sick in the road.
And if Adam has too much beer, he goes into the wrong apartment by accident and makes friends with old men.
So, too much beer can be friendly.

needless
to learn how to breathe (V)
again

by the way
would you like to run away? and try to forget.
just not to st
ay.

to get up and go
and to get in some car and

to learn not to come back this way.

And I'm scared to say it!
Me!
To fit in with every single time my thoughts have time to dance
then
I should do it, say it, try it, be as
ballsy as he likes to think
I Am.

Messy, bloody; ripping up things
that aren't mine to rip.
I can't watch those pieces being made because
even though my jigsaw wants to stick his back together, to be his,
(so much! so, so much!)
what if I never get him back.
?
as anything
?
hey?
wanting to stick his [pieces] back together but never getting [him] back.

Even though every pore is wanting to soak
up the rays of him
it's un-do-able. do-able. i am able. i am un-able to do it.

Spice up my crumble

Spice up my crumble.
Go on!

I dare you!
I kneed you (to)

So come on!
Spice things up!
Be this injection of flavour I kneed, that you need to be,
Because, dearest, there are other spices in this 'ere space
who can shake at me soon
and I will choose them.

Infinite time?

I'm not talking about this now.

It hammers away
- hurts, even -
with the pace of my running...
(...?)

and with each step up there's one down too
and that's why not a day less will do.
I will ask you.

Because in that blissful moment of just ___
there is that kind of forever
there IS!
that has your name scratched in it

but I don't think you see it.

So don't go running away, you mad fool,
from you,
I don't want to give mine away!

So give me yours!

Moving...

The beauty of it lies in
its' happy wookie, its' wind,
its' grey, in its' neverending
power to be new.
To find that fearless pull
to know that wherever you
walk, you will be as two.
That this might be that best cup.

Liam

Take --- from him, all those thoughts of swaying
Marbled eyes
Surprised that he'd actually done it.
The swaying though; a euphoric looseness in him, unmoving
and then Someone felt that face
and said he wasn't gone yet
pupils coming alive freaked us to be,
a minute later, pleading, an unimaginable desperation
Cursing that he felt this way
that I was the only person he'd ever wanted to bruise.
Then he gripped my arm in his almost-dead fist.

But to think it was HER
And the way I crashed when after my
tr - tr - triple - take
it turned out to be a beautiful mistake

Mr and Mrs

How
Would he know?

How would he know that
it would knock the wind out of her

How his soul searching would
knock her soul so she turned to haircuts to boost the battered bits.

He just fucking said "s-o-r-r-y"
but that doesn't (hair) cut it I'm afraid
when those battered bits are the ones
that cry in the emails to me
that make her collapse at work
that leave her questioning whether she can even
Do this any more.
That's his soul-searching, is it?

You are everytime the biggest sun