Crumpled

I am silver on the inside,
But not precious, just foiled,
I reflect all of the things you say
Around my mind, like tennis balls
They bounce around, hitting walls
Hitting ground, the sound contained
It's a signature, the time I'm too tired
To count.

I am a crisp packet,
You look forward to my fullness,
To my hesitant release of air,
When you place each arm on my side,
Your hands are spiders,
My skin the web, you want to
Swallow my pride
And rip me open.

I am too salty, too sweet,
Too unhealthy, I know that,
I know I'm not good for you.
But now I am no longer sealed,
Once broken, I will expire
Unless you lift me into the air,
And then crush me with your teeth.

I am a snack, never too good
To be a real meal, the real deal,
Just an in between impulse, and later
You feel repulsed by what you have done,
And vow never to do so again.

And you'd think I'd be used to it,
If I could survive the searing of the oil,
What is this burning if compared,
This fever fearing air which boils
Me down to petty, pointless, unprepared.

And to make new friends,
You pass me around, and people
Reach in deep
And take what's mine,
But it's theirs now,
Or so you say.

Your dis-ownership is vinegar
Burning through the cuts you have created.
Your eyes cheese and onion blue,
A taste I wish I'd hated.

And at the end of it all, after
The chips are all down,
Everything I had is gone,
And there are smiles all around,
I am in the palm of your hand,
You trick me into love,
First you put me in your trouser pocket,
I can feel your warmth, but then you
Take me out
Screw me up
And throw me onto the cold floor.