I don't like it when your late

The fog is getting thicker by the second

And I need to stop watching CSI so late at night

I don't like it when your  late

What happens when my bliss,
Resides in you?
And when you leave,
What the **** shall I do?

Happiness is temporary,
I've been taught many times.
And you, my dear,
You're oh so sublime.

You, my love,
Many times, proved an angel,
But my love for you,
Proves my being to be in danger.

Because love is not forever,
And bliss is just for a minute.
And love resembles bliss,
Which unfortunately, I am in it.

For to lose you is my death,
And to love you is a threat.
To need you causes stress,
I need you and nothing less.

I love you.
I cannot outrun that fact,
And if you decide to run away,
Would bliss ever come back?

And I can't be mad at you because you might be as puzzled as I am

And my walls are already down

And I've spent too much time laboriously keeping them up, hiding

And perhaps it would be easier to give in

And the silence is unbearable

But am I still too weak?

Go on and starve yourself if you think you're fat

(even though you're already a toothpick)

I've tried your methods to have a flat stomach.

(It didn't work)

If I'm going to starve myself and feel depressed

(feeling worthless and never good enough)

to get a flat stomach, to hell with that.

I'd rather be fat and with a smile

Lost in a big quilt

hot mug of coffee in her hands

She stares into a cobwebbed corner

as if it holds the secrets of the world.

Everyone has been wondering about her

She's been like that for a long time

no one knows why, or how she is still alive

once that shadow of a body was strong and active

now she's wasting away under a big quilt in her room

and the coffee is getting cold.

I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.

I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.

My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;

"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.

I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.

He is thunder.
His laughter booming. You hear him laugh and you want to know the joke. He is hi-fives and gum and lucky pennies and songs and light and stars and dreams.

She is lighting.
She extraordinarily radiating. Lose her and you'll miss her. But catch her and you will never regret waiting to take that picture. She is pinky promises and chocolate and rain and sunsets and kisses and sand.

They are the definition of imperfectly amazing.  They are reason for Friday. They are old photographs with memories brimming at the edge. They are bonfires and hands fitting together like two long lost puzzle pieces finally reunited.

They are often mistaken

They are usually  forgotten

They are moments, they are time.

They are you, they are me

They are **us.