Crying shame.
Just bloom out of this rancid casing.

Dim light shows my eventual destination,
but it seems to make my stomach into a dumpster.
And I feel a dump truck turning it over, empty.

I will never eat again without cursing.
A recurring atrocity has filled me;
you held me so long it began to feel like,

Will it ever be liveable?
I get a single glancing glimmer
of a life unlike my dim-lit nightmare
and I could lead a nation to its homeland.
We're only strays.