You’re looking terrible. I can’t believe
how many of you people aren’t fine.
I doubt that God is trying to achieve
this unattractive blandness by design.
You’re somnolent, and you have blotchy skin.
Your hair is dull. Your fingernails don’t shine.
The windows to your soul reveal within
a toneless dance that’s out of step with mine.
Hallucinating long ago on drugs,
I quickly learned to only drop at night
or else I’d freak, observing ugly mugs
and hairy bodies hogging all the light.
But, honestly? that acid carried fact:
You mostly look as poorly as you act.