hilarity itself

Your shining eyes are giving me skin cancer.
Sweat is forming on my brow from the warmth of your smile.
I'm perched on the edge of my seat in awe at your tales of life,
eyes welling up at your stories of woe.

My extremities are blackening 'cos you're, like, really cool.

I have pins and needles from your rapier wit.
My head pounds to the rhythm of your voice.
Your bosoms have left me breathless.

All in all, I'm highly uncomfortable.

narcissist, apparently

I hope that the last face I see before I die
is my own.

I'd just love to see my reaction.

If you hear of any mirror-related fatalities,
do me a favour,
and hope it's me.

I get taxis these days

What if God was one of us?
Just a stranger on the bus?

Like the crazy old lady heading to the bingo.
The one with the magical disappearing hair.
From a few seats back, it looks plentiful,
but stray too close, and your eyes will see nowt but scalp.

Possibly the old guy.
Sorry, elderly gentleman.
He's been on the bus hundreds of times in his life,
but still seems slightly confused by the experience.

Single mother with child.
Surely that's not God?
A foul mouthed bint making it very hard
for anyone to appreciate how difficult things are for her.

How about one of them schoolkids.
Yeah, you know the ones.
Noisy bastards with their magical musical phones.
It's not real music of course: because the old guy says it's not.

Maybe God's the hot schoolgirl.
The one amongst the freaky rabble who retains a surprising air of class
and makes young men think "well, she's probably only ten years younger than me".
"That's not weird, right?"

Stinky bastard.
That one permanent bus fixture, who if he was a cartoon
would have little wavy lines rising from himself.
Maybe that's God, trying to make us all feel better about our less putrid selves.

At least I know He's not the bored bastard at the back.
Heading to work at far too early o'clock,
not giving a damn about how much older he is than hot schoolgirl,

judging everybody,
and wondering if he might be ridin' with a Lord he doesn't believe in.

April Four

I don't know what to say.

I can't understand what you must be feeling.
I've never experienced anything like that.
There is no explanation I can offer for other people's actions.

I can't put myself in your shoes.
Much less theirs.

I shan't offer you my ear.
You wouldn't take up the offer,
But I won't take the chance.

I guess I'll just ignore it.
And trust in your own capabilities.