Rotting Away

I’m standing knee deep in years of waste
thrown atop the grave of an unknown soul.

Importance matters not to you
when the life is not relative.

He sleeps restless in a rotted coffin;
blanketed in the arms of roots
that the maggots use for transportation.

He will never be known, but the first trash
ever to lie within this landfill
that reeks of pollution and repressed memories.

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