An argument with my penis

 

 

 

 

 

“Remember me?” it asks,
as I undress for bed.

“I’ve been trying to forget, but you keep turning up,” I reply.

“Oo-er! Turning up, eh?  Never know yer luck,” chirps my penis:
having a fondness for double entendres and vulgarity.

“Vulgarity is it? Get him! On that high horse,” he sneers,
with a slight toss of the head.

“I reckon it’s time you did a bit more tossing, around here.”

“Pipe down,” I said.
“Too late. I’m wide awake, ready for action.”

“Well, there isn’t going to be any.”

“Why can’t you find a girlfriend, then?”
“Because I’m a loser.”
“Depressive, you mean.”
“Melancholy realist.”

“You need a good woman!”

“Or even a bad one,” I thought.

“Yes. And how about me? Ten years lacking female company.”
“You aren’t helping to lessen the pain, either,” I grumbled.

“At least I function normally. Unlike some.”

“This conversation’s giving “self abuse” a new twist.”

“So, pay me a little attention.”

“In the end, that only leaves a sense of increased emptiness.
Over an aloneness.”

“Oh! Who’d be chained to such a pantywaist!” he mutters,
shrinking back, resentfully.

 

 

Being estranged from one’s manhood is an unhappy state.

Actually, I feel sorry for it, yet don’t want to stir things up.

 

 

Anyway, he’s fallen asleep, again, now.

 

 

Just wish I

 

 

 

could do
the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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(2006)

 

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Hi everyone!

After being surprised by old prose morphing toward poetry (during editing) in some previous posts, I’m finding pieces based around dialogue are more resistant to change.

Sorry for lowering the tone somewhat, this week, but fear not:
I intend returning to fairly respectable musings,
and sad poetry,
eventually…

 

Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Your comments are always VERY welcome! 😊

 

Thank you for reading.

 

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( anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / fiction / humor / life / mental health / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

 

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