So the feather duster has settled a score with that hellion ball of dust adorning the exercise machine so enthusiastically purchased weeks ago, at least the fluff monster you just honourable challenged with a precision engineered cleaning instrument got some use out of it! (the resulting workout you had in order to defeat it enough to repent)
The day is begun in earnest effort, but dragging dismally into the afternoon of dire boredom… wait, is that a new bit of dust on the mantle… and with a briefest required endeavour it’s back to the frustratingly lingering boredom.
The question hangs heavy in the air as it appears to enjoy taunting you “What now?” an edge of cruelty dripping in its tone, no less a reason required but to know it mercilessly has you by the balls.
So indeed it stands to answer, what now?
Since I’ve resorted to writing this, open to suggestions!
“I’ll give guns to the red guys and shields to the blue, Intel for the green lot and protection where we get paid
But the moment you hit my home, I’ll call in all sides to rain down Hell and sell all you own”
I wanted to write, in acidic tone put upon page my feelings in black ink, a reflection of my darkened mood
But the razor did its job, tendons weak and my grip as lost as the blood that fills the ink pot with rhythmic drip
The countdown to the moment I never wished
So the page lays out blank…
Just the snaking lines of red that tell more of my fading death than the damning nothing I was in life
I should have thought to put the words to paper, before the selfish instinct took form in bloody act
I never got to say it, how much I will miss you my love
To the clinically cursed singles, anti social specialists and that elitist gathering of time lacking individuals whose lives deny the happy embrace of another, I offer not the damningly discouraging ‘valentines wishes’ or even more drearily so ‘hope you’re spending time with loved ones’…. bucket, razor blade and blissful absence of living temptingly result in that order from such an incendiary mix of putrefying remarks.
I refer your much besieged higher functions to that hallowed of occasion’s event ‘Penguin Day’ where in the finely attired creature resides above the majestic reach of a stunning vista, glass in hand, and signals respectfully to the grandest mother of them all for her natural beauty, nature. With only the blessed company of those he/she feels worthy to share the epic moment, not a corrupting drip of poisonous emotion branded into pleasant society as the deceptively simple ‘Love’ or forth warningly as ‘romance’ (I shudder at the most meagre reference to those demonic words) to ruin the mood.
So raise a glass of choice with me as we see this year’s overly sized and reddened heart shaped misery subside into another year’s memory, and should you feel the wish/necessity to refill said glass of salvation, I’m right there with you!
To those whose scorn positively pours upon the screen with malice aimed at how I do slander the name/curse of ‘Love’ I offer only the hope that any who do not find fault in my words will find their black hearted companion before the twelve month countdown painfully ticks and tocks its way to this time in 2017, so they too can revel in merriment of another’s company for the viewing of that grandiose vista under the starry sky.
So Happy Penguin Day folks