Chapter One.

Taste the crap fully.
The corn eyes comatosed....
stuck
In between the folds of mash potato like obedience.
Fuckery makes hate great again.
The horrible rift established by
Religiously intolerant thetoric.
Reacting becomes classic.
Suffocation slowly creeps in and becomes expected.
The silence becomes tragic,
as the first amendment is shredded  into nothingness.
And soon the corn eyes begins to multiply,
as stinking crap blinds the dreams of its corn fed yellow eyes.
Remember, fake news like corn never sits well in the tummy.
Comes out at the other end.
Brown chunky oatmeal,
with corn eyes wide open looking stuck upon the mountains and mountains
of left over **** traffic coming to a sudden halt.
Where is lady liberty?
My original democracy loving tv dinner Mommy.
Who knows....
This is the diary of zombie corn eyes.

Next Week....
Chapter Two.
When a new jacking off tax becomes a liability for those professionals tryimg to make money off their favorite part time hobby.

(C) copyright 2020

why is it that the zombie can't speak?
why are zombies poor?

why are most vampires rich, educated and always dressed well?



LET'S STRIKE FOR ZOMBIE RIGHTS!
SCRIPTWRITERS AND FILMPRODUCERS HAVE TO MAKE A CHANGE.

North African English teachers
Are so rare in Peru;
However, I was sent right there
By the Erasmus - EU.


My adventures didn't even start
When I felt strong unease;
As if I was followed by some,
Some dark and unseen breeze.


My first day was ruined by a bite
Happened in the toilet;
I saw a shade in the mirror,
Then, some tooth and eyelet.


                    ---


On my first day I got injured
That was badly enough;
However, the first day kept me
A night just alike tough.


Knock-knock-knock I heard on my door,
The darkness was shallow;
Knock-knock without answer,
My guest was Diablo.


I'd been never superstitious,
Though, I believed in Jinns;
Just as I was a believer
Of many other things.


                    ---


Knock-knock-knock - for a hundred times,
As if my head was' door;
My fear' fulfilled with angriness,
I faced the corridor.


I got the door slowly ajar,
A black claw might me seize;
I snapped its hand and bring Quran,
"It's time to Exorcise!"


The demon tore the door crying,
Of Quranic verses;
The North African welcoming
Has no demon versus.

As the man on screen aims
His rifle towards the zombie's head,
I picture myself holding the pistol
To mine.
Tighten my finger over the cold trigger.
Pop
The popcorn in my microwave
And dust on the shelves
Are all that hits my ear.

I'm fighting the zombie.
The sunken eyed ghoul that
Haunts my mirror.

Ensorcelé !
Heureux !
Imprimé dans mon fondement
De la marque indélébile
De ma diablesse
Marqué tel un zombie dans la fesse gauche
Marqué tel un zombie dans le blanc de l 'oeil gauche
Marqué tel un zombie dans le pied gauche
Du sceau de luxure
J 'ai juré allégeance à mon ange,
Ma soeur, ma mère, ma fille,
Mon épouse, ma reine, ma déesse.
Mon Ombre satanément fidèle,
J'ai signé un pacte avec Elle
Un pacte de non agression
Et de secours mutuel
Et ne comptez pas sur moi
Pour que je commette
Ni sororicide, ni matricide, ni infanticide
Ni uxoricide, ni régicide, ni déicide.
Ce ne serait que tentative de suicide,
Ombricide lâche, poltron
Voué à pendaison, géhenne,
Noyade et démembrement.
Ensorcelé !
Marabouté !
Morfoisé !
Vampirisé !
A d'autres les zombicides, les soukouyancides
Et chaque jour que ma Muse fait
J'honore de sa signature le chant du coq
Et la rosée sur le sang des coquelicots
Et le ballet des balais et des chapeaux pointus
Par delà les nuages comme des i accent circonflexe
Ou des parapluies ballottés par nos peurs archaïques.