Jesus.

Yes?

Do you believe in Santa?

Do you believe in God?

Yeah, of course. He's your dad.

You have your answer.

Do I ?

Pass me another beer. It's going to be a long night.

These cold days,
Poetry is all I've got.
Where snow falls solemnly from looming clouds,
The only thing I surround myself with are words.
I miss the spring city,
Nothing could penetrate my armor of love.
For now that December has made it's descent, I am left in winter song,
Alas, for poetry, who's warm heart could melt the ice of sorrow.
Where will the fae dance tonight?
For reading poetry it makes my heart soar, and it makes my heart sore.
Snowflakes lace the winter grave of Autumn leaves,
And poetry, a silent goddess in the wind, has captured my tongue.
Where is the sun? In this winter's song,
For poems are the light in my dark.
Cold, the fingers that hold my pen,
Verse warms my soul.
Where am I? In this winter's song.

I am multi coloured
As in multiethnic
For I am arab,
Chechen, Roma,
And central Asian
Himalayan and Uighur
But that has been me since
I always all over the ****
      M
                       A
  P
That is my DNA
Hence I am multicoloured

Some say,
           Live life to the full.
I say,
      Full?

She smiled;

I knew it was a mask.

Fat Bertha opened her front door.
She was dressed in a sheer negligee and a seductive smile.

"Hello babe," she purred, "will I do?"

I admired her full figure, scarcely hidden beneath.

I could hardly catch a breath, before she dragged me inside and ravaged me.

I only popped round to borrow some teabags.