Boo Radley

I promise,
On Mondays I will let you weep at my door
And on Fridays I will disguise myself for your amusement
But as any other day comes,
I will ask you to turn away,
For my dead bones are jutting out of my shoulders
My wrinkled throat has collapsed under the rape of my hunch

Though my fights have left a few strands of pitiful hair
They lie dull and unconscious
Spread like vermin on top of my spotted scalp

Mother, lover, I am hideous.
I have turned into a withering wretch.

Keep the doors closed and the curtains united
Your bright smiles blur my eyes gone white
And your laughs mock my large bony duck feet

I have seen and felt the tight wrap of your pity around my stomach
Around my thighs, around my deformed calves
I have felt it too many times to believe I have eaten the right apple

Too many times to forget that
My rotting flesh reeks
My smile hollows my cheeks
And my love leaks

Sweet and sticky all over your delicate freckles
You are disgusted and leave with deceit

It is time for me to go back inside.

On Monday I will lock my doors
And on Friday I will let you bid farewell, for I am dying already.