Believe it or not, Meph created something serious

Certain people, especially her,
Contain a certain quality.
Certain people, mainly her,
Stand out from the majority.

Certain people, obviously her,
Can appear without warning.
Certain people, probably her,
Are like dew in the morning.

Certain people, I think its her,
Create this new sensation.
Certain people, it must be her,
Are things of fascination.

Certain people, why was it her?
Can drive me to despair.
Certain people, it used to be her,
Just made me happy, by being there.

"Opening Night"

His hand shakes as he makes the final preparations.
Tonight, he feels, is the night, there is no going back.
All the other times, all the other mistakes
Are nothing more but memory. His mind is focused, on track.

He takes one last glimpse at the script upon the desk,
Taking in every last drop of text,
Finally, the cue is heard,
He knows that he is next.

His feet are cold, his hands are clammy,
His nerves of steel are turning hot,
A mistake now,
Would blow his only shot.

He arrives, unheard, waiting stage right,
Waiting patiently, for the green light to appear,
He rings his hands, he calms his breath,
"Break a leg" he hears in his ear.

The light is there, its on, he’s on,
No time to recollect, no time to think,
This packed colosseum he must enthrall,
He must grow, not shrink.

And suddenly, he exits, to rapturous applause,
And just as quickly as it had begun,
The task is over, the nerves are gone,
And the audience are well and truly won.

"I Shouldn’t Even Bother"

"So you wrote this. In my honour? Oh god, I’m so flattered, I might just swoon."

The sarcasm floated from her lips and smacked me about like I was its wife, and it was my drunken husband.

"Dont you like it then", I replied, half said with a chip on my shoulder, half with that pathetic, automatic moan, that always escapes my lips when any girl rejects me.

"Look…you’re a nice guy. I’ve had fun. Its been fun. But, I’m not happy with the way things are going. For me, nothing has changed. For you, well, who can tell. I’m sorry…"

"Dont apologise", I interrupted. I knew where it was heading. I appeared strong and confident. But, I was the opposite of that. I mumbled something, and made my retreat, clumsily struggling to close her door behind me.

Getting dumped is like a giant game of chess, but one which you were destined to lose. You can pre-empt your opponents moves to an extent that allows you to come away with a dignified loss. Or you can just lose like a spoilt kid, and knock the pieces over the floor.

And writing. Well. Thats like courting. I’ll only succeed when I iron out the cliches.

Nothing like emotion for triggering excellent writing, eh?