BULLFROG DEATH

He looked down, his head heavy,
onto his swollen throat,
deformed/overformed.
A bullfrogs pride maybe.
A magnificent pouch maybe
Bloated words maybe.

But his jaw would not fall.
His neck could not turn downwards.
He could have laughed throaty,
head to the sky, a free deep laugh.
His swollen throat would allow it. It would pass its scrutiny.

But he hadnt laughed like that .
For 5 years.
It plagued him, his fat, fleshy piece of force field.
The human -shunner.
The overgrown bully who kept the world away.
That bull, nagging, nudging blob,
that makes him feel false pride,
His nose being forced up into the air.

But I can say one thing.
He fulfilled a wish he had for the last 5 years.
When he took,
A blade and ripped it open.