Among the Insects

Living among insects Slithering through the soil Like worms Sometimes found in tunnels. Dead. You should leave. Someday, even you will crunch like a leaf That day when the cosmos intersects; Perhaps you’ll be dead, Rotting in the soil In your own private tunnel Just like that worm. Maybe you are a worm. Not in the literal sense – humanity is what you perceive, Your soul like a tunnel Your morals like an insect. Your thoughts are soiled; Inside, you’re dead. Perhaps you are close to dead: Your body no longer firm, No longer secreting those oils Of life. Your mind will leave Your thoughts like the flight of an insect. Your chest weighs a ton. Your car passes through a tunnel Thousands of souls reside there, their bodies dead, Picked by insects, Now no higher in society than worms. Like I said, you too will leave, your dead body rotting in the soil. At birth, yourself you would soil. At the end, all you see is a dark tunnel; One you would like to leave, Like to finally be dead, Ride of this society full of worms, No longer living among the insects. So there you wait out the rest of eternity: in the soil, dead. A once-living tunnel for new born worms. Your thoughts leave your mind, their place taken by insects.