This is Pretty Bad

And I've found
there's little argument to be had
with the premise
of the ugly that I am.

No contorts of
your rich imagination can
help you pretend.

They'll say their clichés, you know,
something about every dog has his day.

The mirror is a powerful
metaphor for the metamorphosis of reality
into the planes of fantasy,
And it's kind of been done
so I won't use it
here, at least.

Let me just say that
no matter how hard you try
you probably aren't aware
of how ugly I am.

I'll elaborate:
think of that guy
(the one everyone's seen)
who makes you look away in a mixture
of trepidation and disgust...
That's not quite me.

So, you see,
what I mean to put across
is that I am one ugly-ass
son of a bitch.

And there's nothing to do
for my condition--
nothing.