So Ugly

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 fucking 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 shit

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