Light up fatty
Don't you worry
As I inhale
In breathless hurry
The plume of smoke
From your pink pout
Resist the urge
To put it out
On your face.
WOW. Is it me, or do I become a better poet everyday? It never once occurred to me, during my three year Creative Writing Degree, that poetry was my forte, but it's looking likely.
And not just any poetry - aggressive poetry. Poetry with punch. Did I just stumble upon the title of my first anthology? One thinks so!
When I finally snap and stab someone, my sobbing mother will offer up these darling poems to the police, crying, 'It's all there officer!'
I had the occasional cigarette growing up (this confession is why my Mum will be so happy to dob me in after the stabbing), but I've developed a real aversion to the selfish smoker, who suggests, nay insists that you share the experience with them.
Since the odds are stacked against me for dying of my own stupidity, clumsiness and alcoholism, I really don't need this on top.
Mum, it's okay, I'm joining in with Dry September, from today actually. I'm calling it Partially Dry September. Do you want to sponsor me?
Anyway, it's only bloody time for Sleep of the Week! Another blinder submitted by Nia Edwards. It could be assumed that people regularly fall into deep sleep in her company. But I don't think anyone would assume that. Not one person.
This is Sophie.
She is completely dedicated to her sleep.
She has nothing left to give to anyone.
If you held a puppy in front of her face, and a gun to the puppy's face and shouted 'Wake up or the puppy gets it!', the puppy would get shot, and it's likely, shot in the face.
It's also nice to see a girl spread her legs on the tube. Look, you know what I mean. Men typically spread their legs as wide as physically possible, close to pelvic dislocation (check out massive knee on her right). Actually, is that a giant? Is it?
Sophie is owning it.
Good for you Soph.