Happiness

The incessant, slow drip of your cheerful malice
Has bored a deep hole through my skull.
Drumming its heartbeat, inanely persistent,
It’s all so unpleasantly dull.
Like Christmas in summer, or wine in the morning,
Your smile on a stick starts to pucker.
It’s as shallow and vapid as Hyacinth Bucket
To a mind that prefers Malcolm Tucker.
And you think you’re so clever and wise and untainted,
But can’t see when enough is enough.
Note this twitch of a smile at the edge of my lips.
It’s a warning you’d better sod off.