The Boy With The Shrunken Head

I totally forgot about this poem. It was homage to the Tim Burton "Oyster Boy"-esque poetry which I was quite fond of. This dates back about three years I think, from college. I was going to use it in a project, then never did, because I left it alone to illustrate Antichrist Superstar, which I like more anyway.

Anyway, enjoy


This tale is quite tragic but it must be told Of Timothy Green, 11 years old A lovely young boy with just one minor fault – His head had been shrunk by an ancient cult His eyes were all dark and surrounded by rings His nose was no more and his hair was like string His mouth was a mess, he whistled when he breathed He had close to no tongue and was missing some teeth Life for young Tim wasn’t easy at all: Off his shoulders his head would occasionally fall Finding it would be hard cos his legs couldn’t see And he’d find himself walking into walls or trees When he found it (and that was a job and a half) He still had to endure all the terrible laughs He would get from the public and people he met And the photographers from the Daily Gazette When Tim went to school he was picked on by most As a joke his schoolmates sent his head through post Tim would take it all in, he turned the other cheek He never fought back; he was gentle and meek When he came home he’d sit down on his bed and he’d cry And he’d wish that his life would just pass him right by His mother would come up and she’d comfort her child She would tell him it’s good to be placid and mild So Tim would agree (out of love for his mum) But he still couldn’t help feeling terribly glum He’d go to sleep sad and he’d wish he were dead And the nightmares would creep up and enter his head In his dream Tim made friends and they all ran around Playing football and fighting till they all hit the ground But a bully walked past and he snatched Timmy’s head He decided to use it as a volleyball instead His friends all left Tim to pay volleyball Tim tried to walk home but he couldn’t see at all And he told his mum what happened when he was in bed On his neck his mother placed an old cabbage head She said “stop your whining and use this for the while. “Just be happy you’re here you ungrateful child!” Tim awoke with a start, he was stricken in fear That he lost the only person he really held dear It was then that he swore to become one with the crowd And of his small head he would be really proud It was good to be different and Tim knew that well And the people who argued could just go to Hell He breakfasted fast and he stormed out the door (But not before his head fell and rolled on the floor) He marched to school proud of his miniscule head He would pay no attention to the things that they said He strutted around like the school was his own But by lunchtime he realised he was all alone So he vowed that before the day ended he would Make and play with as many friends as he could He went down to the field where the other boys played But the others ignored him, no attention they paid “Please can I join in? I’m not bad at this game. “Just cos my head’s cursed doesn’t mean that I’m lame.” The boys stopped playing and they looked at him weird “Fine, you can play ball” and Tim almost cheered Tim joined in the game, ecstatic and wild It was the happiest day in the life of this child He realised he never had such a good time And all he needed was to run to unwind But life ain’t all good, I can say as a fact Cos Tim didn’t leave the football game intact … He was running for goal, it was such a clear shot As he ran his head fell of and rolled on the spot It tumbled away and Tim’s sight disappeared This was one of those moments that Timothy feared The goalie misjudged what he thought was the ball And he grabbed it and kicked it straight over the wall “That wasn’t the ball!” a boy cried out to him “That thing that you kicked was the head of young Tim!” Tim’s head flew through the air, it had such a migraine It felt like someone had shot him in the brain It landed with a splash in a nearby gutter And it tried to scream “Help!” but it only could mutter It was starting to move (someone had used their hose) He had to breathe through the hole that was his nose Water filled his mouth and he gagged hard for air He swore. Why must life for this boy be unfair? It stopped in its tracks and hit fur in embrace And looking at him was a brown shaggy face With a big dark red tongue and a large grinning jaw The hairy brown dog picked up Tim up off the floor Despite cries from head, the dog brought it back home The mutt could feel quite clearly that this was a bone The head was then dropped on a patch of old lawn Fearing the worse, for himself Timmy mourned …… ...….. And now, with a cabbage atop his shoulders Tim walks around bored and he slowly gets older There’s nothing to do when you’re mind’s underground In a lawn, by some house, somewhere unknown in town And Cabbage Boy (as he was rightly renamed) Is now a celebrity and internationally famed But of his new fame this boy will never know As his ears are just next door, but two feet below THE END