The scary season came around again,
which did invoke macabre poetry,
so I submitted verse to equal sin
and win a contest for its quality.
Then Dean entered the said contest as well,
and all my chance of winning went to hell.
My grossest scenes were like a bandaged toe
compared to Mr. Kuch's augmented gore;
where I tried to create the fright and woe,
his images oozed out from ev'ry pore.
Then Dean doubled down on guts and blood,
as I attempted phrases to cause tremors;
in impact, mine would compare as a dud,
fall beneath the feet of judging members.
So now I lay like roadkill on the road,
as Kuch collects the winnings he is owed.
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