The Dead Man's Poetry - Syeeah Jarrule Bahshay - Bog

I scooped out soft buttery tissue and ligaments before my body had a chance to rot.
I noticed the air. I could almost taste the sweet clay; my hunger had been breached.
A liter of pus landed near a broken tangled cord, at the base of my neck. Cadavers that couldn't be fixed were placed on wooden benches, and their toe tags removed.