the hole

i dig and dig
and fill the pit

the digging does not stop
the pit does not fill

i look at my hands
muddy bloody hands
i wince at the rawness
i gag at the stench
of decaying life in the mud
that was once alive and kicking
i find a torn piece of writing
a love letter perhaps
that may have been a smile on someone's lips
it is blotched words
on a fraying paper

but if you want
let's imagine it was a note
a grocery list
maybe something else

and now it lies in layers of mud
what is that smell of decay?
is it human?
an animal?
a bird maybe?
strange how the smell of decay
smells the same

i am digging as a constant
to fulfill my karma

but oh the futility of it all
the digging will not stop
the pit will not fill