As if Rotting

Content Warning: Very graphic and visceral descriptions of rotting corpses. Proceed with caution.

It feels like looking at carrion
Cloying, festering carrion
Skin distended as if maggots were swarming underneath
Repulsive odour in the air, pouring from its mouth
Its eyes even more glossed over than mine
Host of rot, and infection, and wrong
Flesh and nothing else
It's quite disgusting, really
Like seeing a walking corpse on the street
Like vomit in your apple pie
Like sugar in my mouth
I lie in bed, rubbing my carrion
Gnashing my teeth against carrion
Drool and pus intertwined, liquid the colour of caramel
Breathing necrosis down into me
Do these words disgust you?
Do you stare down at yourself, and see a cadaver?
What does that make you feel? Regret? Disgust? Determination? Pride?
I guess I don't really care what you see in your mind
They said I'd die someday,
But I'm pretty sure they just meant never
So what am I to do?
Pine?
Pretend that my life is fine?
Accept being the only zombie who stayed underground?
No. My life is out of my hands but my death is mine.
Kill me. Cut gashes into my chest and pour moldy bile inside
Tear off my nails, and rip holes into where they used to be, and shovel mud into there
Drop parts of yourself into my mouth and let them pool in my stomach
Coat me in mildew
Leave me awaiting rigor mortis
No, don't. Wash it over me right now.
My death is mine
And nobody but me could die like this

I wrote this last night at 3 AM when I couldn't sleep. Not quite sure how to describe it. I guess it's about finding solace in depravity. In the depths of choosing your own fate. Sorry if it got a little disturbing, I swear I'm all good.
But seriously... look at yourself. Do you feel shame?