One More Again

Splattered gray matter
on his white T shirt
A blast to the face
but it didn't hurt
Eyeball dangles
from a rotten socket
Shot gun shells
in all his pockets
Clearing the way
through the great undead
Chopping up limbs
and hacking off heads
After two hundred movies
of zombies and friends
Will he ever learn
That he just can't win
So he's the last one standing
in guts on the floor
Some dead beat producer
Will make one more