Poor Poor Pitiful Me. Not too long ago I used to think I lived half a life; The car, two kids, two mortgages, the dog, the wife, Stuck on the endless treadmill of work work work, I thought one day I'd lose my mind and go berserk. I see now I was 'a glass half-empty' kind of a guy, A sad sack who saw the world through a gimlet eye, My father-in-law berated me as a self-pitying soul, His wife told me straight- 'what a miserable asshole.' Abed one night, worried and awake at one o'clock I rose and took a ruminative stroll around the block, The streets and my thoughts were miserable and dark, My feet grew weary but my brain continued to spark. I was passing through the shadows of the church tower, Deep in the dark depths I saw an eye's malevolent glower, I was encircled and set on, just outside the church grounds! Do these roaming gangs of mindless thugs know no bounds? In the darkness I could see naught but a flash of white, The gleam of bared teeth, evil creatures of the night, I fought bravely under their outrageous bestial attack Till someone tapped my head and everything went black. When I awoke my bloody head was pounding, An alarm somewhere in my brain was sounding, I arose from the pavement and shook my head But in my mind a creeping realisation spread... I discovered I could no longer focus my brain, My fragmentary thoughts seemed half insane, My attack proved a bit more than a minor scuffle- Both brain and feet seemed to be stuck on shuffle. In the pit of my miserable guts sat a hunger, gnawing, A deeply primitive part I knew I was beyond ignoring, On my approach I saw three pre-dawn joggers scatter- This new Zombie shows a hankerin' for fresh grey matter. As I shamble along I glance at a storefront window And see a sight, in reflection, I have no wish to know, And that last human part of me clenches in resistance, And I know I want no part in this miserable existence. So I'm stumbling back home where I'm hoping I'll find An up-in-arms wife to offer me a bit of peace of mind, I guess our shotgun marriage was doomed from the start, Let's hope she aims for my stupid brains and not my heart.
(Obviously watching Shaun Of The Dead on top of a few tasty episodes of The Santa Clarita Diet inspired another addition to the Shlock Mock Horror genre. I thought 'why not try to see it from the zombies point of view?' At least it's a fresh one.)
‘Hey, I know I’ve changed. No, It’s not you, it’s definitely me.’