This book of words
is falling apart
while makeup mistress
weaves together
a patchwork creation
meant to imitate perfection –
free from the rhyming couplets
that have held us all prisoner
and made a fairytale
of our dungeon.
The underground roars
through hollow hills
beneath beautiful graveyard labyrinths –
a necropolis that invites the living
to congregate with the dead:
the mouldering corpses
of past aspirations,
childhood dreamscapes
and unfinished poetry.
In an autumnal sunset
over a long Decembered
spring awakening
lies a barely remembered
ginger haired mutant
of a carcass.
Seventeen summers
have taken that once orgasmic beauty
and flayed him into living dead road kill
swollen skull
dried up brains
in that monstrous
Mount Rushmore sized
flesh blossom.
Lucky to have had him
before he was this
completely ugly
unfortunate thing.
Long before his wickedness
was so outwardly apparent
for all the world to see.
Written by Jason Wright
June 7, 2018