Bad Puppy

Once I knew about a man who flirts.
No harm, all fun and plenty of charm.
Opens doors, pays for dates, not once late.
How nice, you'd thought, to have him around.

He listens, he smiles, he drinks cognac.
He laughs, he jokes, and he texts you back.
Cash, cars, cards, condos, clubs, what a guy.
Oh my god, you'd thought, let's have a try.

But, there's always a big freaking but,

He, the smug vainpot preening for blood
the douchebag with a joint in his hand,
plays the VIP Casanova,
in a liar game every Friday night

I want a family, he whispers,
Two kids, one boy, one girl, and a dog
A repeat litany every week,
An ever changing congregation.

But, there's always a big freaking but,

Happily ever after, you see
doesn't include a picture of silence,
he so artfully paints come morning,
slipping out before the alarm rings.


Well now, you'd thought, the fucking bastard.


---

Decided that I didn't like the way it rhymed, especially when I shifted the meter and made it all messy. So, here's another try, with Nicki Minaj in my head, loud and so-oh-very-her, telling me to shut the fuck up and write. No Billy, no Thorin and no Thranduil this time. Just me and Nicki, and steady nine.

Boy, that changed the voice of this piece so much. I had aimed for a lighter tone, but it wasn't working. So anger it is. But it's not rap - it doesn't fly. I may want this for a song lyrics one day.

One thing remains, however; puppies don't go to hell, bad or not. All dogs go to heaven.

I still love puppies.