erm...doesn't have a title yet...

It's annoying how little ideas get stuck in your head until you write them. It really is. Especially when you have other things you're supposed to be writing, and they're kind of nonsensical ideas anyway, but they won't go away and be nonsensical somewhere else.
Dillon don't put any more ideas in my head, ok?
..................

He lives at the top
of the mountain,
did you know?
At the very top
of a treacherous climb
where there's just a smatter
of snow.
He lives at the top
of the mountain,
did you know?
And he'll solve
all your problems
a penny apiece
if you go.
He lives at the top
of the mountain,
did you know?
Up the crooked road
past the cliffs and craigs
that you have to climb
just so.
He lives at the top
of the mountain,
did you know?
You didn't know?
Well.
It's true my friend
and you ought to go
despite the craigs
and the cliffs
and snow.
Go visit the man
who lives up that way
if only to see
what he has to say...

Siren Song

Well before you read this you should know that I most certainly did not, in any way shape of form, write this myself.
I could wish.
It's my second favorite poem ever (I think maybe, although being me, I like an awful lot of poetry and will probably feel horribly guilty about saying this in a few minutes) and it's by Margaret Atwood, who I don't usually like. I WON'T feel guilty for saying that bit.
But anyway, this particular poem...
Just read it.
And if you don't like it, tell me why and I will sit there for an hour and tell you why it's a good poem.

SIREN SONG

This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistable:
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don't enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
At last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.

Envy

You are not for me
you are like
evening gowns and
scented soaps. Other girls
are at home in that world
but I will always be
a pretender.
I am a swamp girl;
I trudge
up mountainsides,
I have
adventures,
I am
satisfied so long
as I don't look too long
at what I'm missing.
You are not for me.
(that doesn't mean I don't
smell the soaps
rub my cheek against
satin and lace
dream of the taste
of your smile)

.........................
I a little bit hate my life right now. Don't mind me.