Charm

I know how to charm, but it's rare that I bother. I'm addicted to cynicism, so I often find that it's not worth the effort. After all, who aspires to make pals with people who appear unpleasant? (In other words, pretty much everybody.) The most interesting people spend less time talking about themselves and forever focusing on the one person who is truly important in your mind - you! They've got a spotlight in their hands and they're shining it on you. But when a person is on stage, it's impossible for them to see the audience. You're blind, and you don't even know it.

To some it would seem as though I've got the world in my messenger bag, friends and fun and wit and smarts, but have they ever minced down the halls in my stilleto heels? No, I didn't think so. 'Cause from where I'm standing, I've got everything I could possibly want right at my fingertips, but am so reluctant to seize it lest it seize me back. What happens when I want to let go? I'm trapped with its burdens forever, the task of its maintenance thrust upon me. And now I ask the question that's a stand by for my soul - who wants to be forever?

So I know the way to charm a body, but I suppose it's only in theory, 'cause the way human beings appall me? Damn, I'm in no hurry to assume the mantle of groundskeeper for the mansion my charm would build for them.