Gasping for Oxygen

It's such a shame she didn't say yes 
Melancholy waves of sadness rolled over me
The pretty girl with blue eyes went on staring blankly into the computer screen 
I asked her out to no avail although we chatted 

She said she didn't like boat parties 
they just weren't her thing 
oh well another polite rejection 

when I looked up deep into her eyes 
I saw she was almost tempted to say yes 
to take a chance on a menace of a man
i would've been so happy if she did 
you know say yes 

But in the end she didn't 
i quickly excused myself 
so i could hyperventilate in private 
in the library bathroom before regaining my composure 
and the remnants of my self-esteem

Thankfully I didn't feel to bad, happy even!

Try as I may and i did try i couldn't for the life of me
wrestle the beloved from the lofty windswept heights of adoration 
I thought how lonely it must be for her 
Up so high looking down on us mere mortals 
with our creaking limbs and flawed personalities 

I decided to go for a walk to shake 
off my feelings of mild despair and existential angst 
Not long into my pointless wandering 
I felt deeply depressed 
It wasn't the girls fault she was ever so tender at saying
No... to me     It was just my natural dissposition 
In a way I was glad I wouldn't have to inflict myself on her
Like a mad juggler grasping at straws to entertain her on a mad tug boat 
what a bloody disaster of a thought

Perhaps why it stung so badly but only for mere seconds was 
because it felt like my very spirit not to mention my decrepit body
had been weighed, judged and simply dismissed as superflourous 
With the ease of a seasoned bureaucrat she continued typing 
after our exchange

While I gasped for oxygen in a room with no sound
Then quickly resolved to buy some new sandals 
To take my mind off my triumphant failure 
As my feet sometimes do get sweaty laughs
Anyway at least I wasn't a coward or lacking a man's backbone 
And she was so close to saying yes I could feel it 
on the tip of her serpents tongue 
I would've died of happiness 
had she uttered those sweet perfumed words 

As i left her in peace to continue the secure monotony of her work 
marketing or something rather boring 
She flicked her hair out with both hands
I laughed to myself perhaps I disgusted her 
Oh how the lover usually has that sort of feeling on the beloved 

Tan-lines

Why do woman try their hardest to eliminate their tan-lines

I mean have they ever asked a hot blooded man whether they like them or not?

If a woman was to ask my opinion I would say with a resounding YES

I love them like them adore them desire them

And a resounding NO

To even thinking about getting rid of them.

But why is this?

Maybe it’s because

Men in our vast majority don't have them

So those thin insignificant lines make you infinitely more feminine

Vastly accentuating your allure and primordial power over us

Not to say that

A woman without tan-lines is any less attractive

I for one would never dream of asking someone to lie down in the sun to get them

I'd worry too much about your over exposure to the sun 

And yet there is part of every man's hearts that wishes

In the recesses of his being for a woman to have bold bright tan lines

Illuminating and skimming across your skin and cutting like fine diamonds

But why?

Maybe it’s just because they are overwhelmingly sensual

Or equally as likely it’s probably just because they remind your lover of your lace bra

even

      when

             it's

                 been

                        taken

                                off

The Killer in My Dreams

In front of me there’s a smashed in door

with a burnt out body inside.

The killer is scuttling around on the loose.

I can hear his feet padding around noisily.

I steal second and steady my breathing, my thoughts

racing into the recesses of my neocortex.

My desire to survive is overpowering.

This demands that I too my must become a killing machine

to escape this deadly encounter.

The hunt is on and I only know three things about

the assailant. He is male, armed

with a shotgun and has only one

shoulder. His slight of frame allows

him to hide in crevices and slide into

passages most men would get stuck in.

He may be a worth adversary only time will tell.

I will likely need my whole combined strength

mental and physical to take him down.

With a last gulp of metallic oxygen I burst through

the blood covered door shouting. I see him in the corner stunned,

everything turns to slow motion. Gun shots rattle

the walls like a child’s play toy. I am hit twice ripped flesh and blood leaking out my leg like spaghetti, but he lays motionless twitching.

As he lays dying it turns out I only knew two things about him.

He actually had two shoulders the myths and rumours were wrong.

Now he just looked like something resembling week old roadkill.

Who said hunting criminals was hard obviously never did,

the only thing tough about it was not turning into one yourself.