Reply Tue 1 Apr, 2014 02:23 am
that poor little panic attack playing possum
underneath the rotting wood of the front porch
with it's wrinkled pink fingers! Absent of flesh! Clenched
in an idle stance, unable to move
unable to groove
unable to connect with the rhythm
like a dormant child, no reason, might as well of been aborted

yet one still ponders with strangely fixated eyes
staring down the night through rickety window panes
like there is some diamond curiosity, shining through the darkly center
perhaps this time it will actually be the ******* Sun shine one needs
when out of breath, on boney knees, submitting
thinking about that carcass underneath the front porch

How mad! How wretched! How pointless!
just lying there
the recollection of the event when this piece of meat
went deceased
is pointless in it's self, so why keep it so close?
so near?
I mean, yeah it's outside, but what if it shows evidence
of zombification?
it will surely be hungry with it's plaqued teeth
carrying bacteria with every bite
determined to infect some kind of virginal flesh
to corrupt some kind of porcelain lung
to clog some significant arterie
to darken matter which was better left gray

Always a spectral figure with anxious claws resonating with the sound
of finger nails against bone, residing in the back of the skull
twisting like a "knife in the back" ego complex
always fucked over by cosmic events, always "Me against the world"
and never enough confidence to takes arms
always an excuse, afraid of dropping that nuclear bomb which will surely
kill everyone, demolish everything which is a lush green or a blushed red
left in some dramatized lonesome state, a state of fear
afraid of being the only human whose aware of what slowly decays beneath
the front porch, always a haunting dead end during The Winter
always an embarrassing putrid must like vibe during The Summer time
when the grass is green and the roses are red

the urge to mow the lawn and to pluck the petals
raging blue balls and taurine testosterone
punching walls and squeezing necks
into a submissive bend
saying "Yes please!" to some god forbidden trend
better left in some charming teen magazine
encouraging those hopefuls to follow their dreams
with holly wood propaganda
disguising it in bull ****

it really takes a set of steely balls to admit
the temptations which tempted us beyond
those Christ like limits
to be sacrificed as a plastic crucifix
always apologizing through text messages
for the inappropriate punchlines
which were sure to hit the noggin, but it appears
they've missed and landed somewhere delicate
like somewhere below the belt, or perhaps the chest
and now, somehow, the target is in cardiac arrest

How embarrassing...
just hide it beneath the rotten wood of the front porch
along with that other thing that you were so worried about
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