Reading poetry about roses now. It’s too bad the body didn’t rot in roses after it died. Once the body dies its soul still remains on earth through its deeds, and in many cases they might as well have left festering sores behind on humanity. The immortality of rot. While they were alive they must have lived a life of rottenness too. That can’t be ideal? For others it’s a given, for the one who actually spreads the rot themselves? They’re already a rotting corpse in their life, then they turn into an actual one, and after they deteriorate away their rot lives on in humanity. Don’t worry, after you die, your coffin gradually fills with roses, not rot. Don’t worry, throughout your life you are not already rotten before you die. Every person is a fair blossom, with a scent that does not smell of corpses. In the last moment they’re alive, I wonder what percentage realizes they were rotten before they actually rot? It won’t matter if they realize it or not, because their rot will live on regardless. Humanity in a coffin underground, it’s not a skeleton yet. The “life” part of it is festering, returning to something before plants. One wonders what among humanity isn’t already rot? Is there even much of a change once they’re put in a box and lowered into the earth? This is what I see as the “contented evil” of them. Rot doesn’t care what it is. It gives you a corpsey grin. They spend all their lives making humanity more of a corpse. Forgive me for giving you all a proper burial. It’s not my fault that part of you is still alive while I do so. Enough isn’t. Too much rotten corpse there for it to matter if any life is left. And the dirt falls upon your eyes, until you can’t even see the shovel anymore, and only hear the sound of the dirt falling upon you, heavier and heavier.