To-Do List For The Dead

Poetry explains itself.

I ignore the maggots squirming about,

they're devouring me inside and out.

Worms crawl through my eyes,

bugs fill my insides.

My skull is shattered,

flesh covered in blood,

but there's nobody here to clean it up.

I cannot move,

wake up, 

or shout,

avoid the maggots squirming about.

So, here I lay,

'til the end of time.

This life of mine,

Shall decay.