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Human Waste

  • Writer: camillesuzannecamp
    camillesuzannecamp
  • Dec 7, 2024
  • 1 min read

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.

 
 
 

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