Human Waste

By Aidan Romo

In this ground that I sleep,

With the sun gone far from me,

My soul wails to the sheep,

Heads spilled red with agony.

As them, as an infant’s

Soul traded for pure pleasure,

I’m another misfit

To them all in this torture.

My family, my friends,

My nagging blood, my dead weight,

I’ve made means to an end,

In my weak head of self-hate.

Could not stand and shout out

To let my own burning cease,

So now, from my eyes sprout

Worms; my new friends without lease.

They don’t enforce regrets

That do plague me in this hole,

Or remind how I met

This depression in my soul

Because now I am mute,

A shell of long tainted flesh

Free for maggots to loot,

A new waste of the race rests.