The Questions of the Rotten

Covering myself in the atrocities of every human, plant, and animal, I could think of myself no more rotten, no less than putrid.

 

Could l delve into my own being and not see it as a leftover pile of festering miserable emotions? Is there something, a cleanse to wash away the evils, to only save the believers and start anew? Is there something to rekindle my soul, to spread passion wherever I please, and let passion rule me? 

 

If there is a God, would they deem me unworthy in the face of repent? Would they see me as a parasite, only living through the malice of others, being absolutely nothing in the course of my lifetime?

 

Even dead things have their place in the world. I’m not so insignificant in this lifetime.

 

But ll I do is ask. Wonder. Imagine what horrors await me in the waking and beyond life.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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