Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Wriggle

I am a maggot boring holes
Into the caskets holding your loved ones.
I am looking to be closer to hell,
Since I've no wings to fly and
Be part of heaven.
The dirt is a blanket,
And it's here that I hide away
From the beautiful insects
That contribute to society.
I move slowly, wriggling around the soil.
I yearn to be touched, to be handled with care
Instead of smashed and stomped to nothing.
They'll kill me before
I can become anything useful,
So I stay hidden beneath the ground,
Where all good things go to die.
I am looking for a chance to be a butterfly,
I think I'll succeed only in being something slimy.
Beauty is not for everyone.
But it is the ugliness that teaches us,
So perhaps there is purpose in my existence,
Even though I make everyone's skin crawl.
Still, I eat my way through people,
Trying to capture their essence
And instead, making a grim scene more gruesome.

4-9-12


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Wriggle

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