My flesh drips from my body,
as I lay in waste 20 feet under.
Worms crawl in and out of my body,
using me as a home and food source;
My soul rots,
in a pitch black darkness.
I cry for Mercy, but,
Alas it never comes.
My purgatory is your happiness.
Never once did you help me.
So, here I am...rotting...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem