Blackjack

21 years old, educated, gainfully employed, fully recovered from one failed relationship and dabbling in several others. I am not gloating, but I have to say, I love my life!

Musings of my Manic Mind - Part I

I laughed as I stabbed you in the back
I watched as you lay bleeding black
My hands now coloured, my lips blue
I fall on my knees and say a prayer for you
Eternal rest grant unto him o Lord
And let perpetual light shine upon him
I look to the heavens searching for an answer
Dejected I turn and in silence embrace her.

A bitch, a liar, a tramp, a whore,
An angel, his sweetheart, his lover and more,
I stabbed I watched him die, my hands are stained,
All the waters of Neptune cannot wash it away.

I laughed as I stabbed you in the back,
I watched as you lay bleeding black
I turned to go I close the door
My step it faltered as I shed a tear
Turning to my Lady I called out to her
Crying, sobbing and wailing I swore
Smiling I slipped my hand in my pocket
Gleaming blood and glistening steel my knife was secure.

Haagen Dazs can buy Happiness

The cookies and cream softness merged with my tongue and did the tango with my buds, my palette smeared with the creamy colours of off-white speckled with deep brown bits of cookie. Was it an Oreo? Or Nestle? Or maybe it was the chocolatey goodness of some very exotic Belgian cocoa. Eyes closed, my lips were pursed to lock in the warmth of the frozen milk that flooded my mouth. The steel glinted viciously as it dug into the tub a second time creating a second crater and the spoon found its way back into my mouth carrying a majestic little blob of heaven.
My weapon of cream destruction found another victim, this time a virgin tub filled with the goodness of strawberries and cream. 'ATTACK' signaled my brain, and my hand moved forth in a swift, streamlined motion that cleaved the thick air that seemed to protect the untouched tub.
Scoop. Savour. Swallow.
My tongue sang praises in my honour, and my brain froze in sweet, sweet orgasmic delight. The ever so slightly sour tang of the fruit blended with whole milk assailed my senses and showed me ecstasy in close quarters.
"Hagen Dazs....." whispered my senses with a little sigh; my shoulders slouched easing my edgy nerves who until now were under the strain of deadlines and unwritten copies.
"Six hundred and fifty rupees!" the shriek sounded groggy to my intoxicated ears. "Six hundred and fifty rupees!" another shriek reiterated, this time I heard it, loud and shrieky. My eyes awake, my brain followed suit. "Six hundred and fifty rupees!" I heard myself shriek. For less than half litre of heaven frozen and sold in little tubs, a tub that carried a sin more delicious and potent than the forbidden apple there was a price, an obscene one.
The package was delivered to the office by two PR agents, who were shamelessly whoring this Mata Hari in an effort to get rave reviews in the weeks' Saturday supplement. My senses which were still reeling in the bliss I fed myself quickly found their bearings and the edginess that was temporarily lifted found its rightful place again, in my neck and nerves.
The happiness I knew fifteen seconds back still lingered like a forgotten lover, and I smiled. The reality of the price tag soured the smile. The old fool who said money can't buy happiness was definitely poor. Today in decadence I found happiness, in the expensive taste of indulgence I was content. Money brought for me happiness, a happiness I cannot afford.