He sat there in the repulsion of his own filth.
Body emptying itself of so much wasted time,
Reeking of roadkill and shame.
An awful odiferous pile of death and decay
Like concentrated sin
Weighted down into the depths of foul waters
By so many horrible choices.
In a perfect state of awakened awareness
He understands that this shit
Is a reflection of ourselves;
The logical end of everything we ever do.
This repulsive repugnant metaphor stuck on repeat,
Is too much much.
It is why we can’t bear its smell.
It is why we flush it away
With the hope we can avoid its truths.
And he thinks to himself
As he flushes it all away,
Maybe my shit will always stink,
I can change
And not be so repulsive.