Born rather slippy and he misses her perfectly imperfect juxtaposition – the scintillating picture/scripture of her bare-naked and opportune body – behemoth at being big and real – laid desirably down between his early-morning sheets for industrious behaviour

A middle-aged farm-hand’s one and only glorious Sunday morning sun pokes fun, fun, fun and it feels a little bit too drawn out altogether

Sits a heap, forlorn and lonely at being stereotypically alone
At attempting to memorably treasure – a rush of blood to the maladjusted head

Feed the pregnant pigs ten times too many, maybe
Meeting the meandering moon at the screaming middle midst the bitter twist of these number-crunching ordeals only minus her vivacious touch anymore …

I liked how you always managed to be like a poor guy on a mammoth yacht inside of this ‘fish in a big pond’ mind of yours … is it true that you wanted to be a real writer, though!? Because it is still all of it yours, so long as you fail at sticking to the scripture, please

Hold that invisible picture in place, for these other writers are shit-out-of-uncontrollable-luck
And. They. Know. It.
They stare at your glare and we can simply see the envy living in their bones
Killing themselves faster than cancer, bare-naked championed chancers
When distancing themselves pleased you more than it did she – sweet, sweet, bitter delirium
These boring, boring, robotic stepping-stones, ‘cept for her of course, these mechanical squares in a round pigeon-hole – no way, no how and even if they somehow manage to ‘make it’, their copy n’ paste /steal-from-the-greats obviously faked it
Like listening to one of the very same thing over and over again, weren’t they supposed to be utterly individuals? You’d fucking think … and you was supposed to be the dumb one in all of this 😉

An empty, rusted dinner-plate come the roll-right-round of the badge-honoured lunch-hour, whilst a pockmarked flower vase sways with the bolster of the waiting, wailing, breeze

Bare-naked and all of its own chosen 3pm. accord

Owing to a locality’s popular belief, she thieved all of him away …

And, oh, how much they will pay for all
Of this burgeoning loneliness via his every next legendary grimace within many a pock-sparked, whiskey-swilling alleyway – inevitably, invitingly, unaccustomed to these … manic demeanours of rearranged his

Soon she will appear utterly untraceable whilst he runs his muddied finger-nails by the embroidered rim of their marital sheets

Yes, Eddie, she cheated …

Cheers up though, for there is a brand new woman standing at the sparkling horizon who you will get to live vicariously through …

Til. We. Meet. Her. Maker.
And. She. Gathers. The. Early-Morning. Hay.

The needle in your gargantuan haystack, some will pray

And trust your luck, some will prey

There wasn’t much to do but for me and you …


Effie: “Tell me, does it really come at you with the ease of a thousand waterfalls?”

Eddie: “Yes, but I’ve been fighting with the hidden in-between, so now I really mean it…”

Working far harder at being balanced than brilliant.
Please remember this one thing though, I was lost all awhile you’ve been living without me.

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