final crunch

cw death, dead bodies, pollution

I sometimes imagine the corpse of the body I'm leaving behind
Bobbing in the sun
A tiny piece of the great Pacific garbage patch

All my human problems
Made even more measly
Than my fat body undulating with the mounds of trash on the open water

Every foul sin
And brutal harm stored within this flesh
Piled high with castles of plastic and silicone

That don't even stink as they die

Not like this body does
As viscera once my own leaks out of every orfice
And every cavity
Their gasses punch through flesh
In pretty pink ribbons

Rivers of blood
Like what washed through villages and temples and cultures
Weaving across a shiny foil landscape

Still greased and dotted with potato chip crumbs

The grave left for me by those
Who resent
That they won't profit off my casket sale