There exists in a dark room somewhere,
Hunched over a bright laptop screen,
A meat sack, a compilation of organs,
That offers nothing, that does nothing,
It takes up space and consumes resources,
And nothing more.
It’s body misshapen and malformed,
As too many resources are pumped into it,
It’s has testicles that pointlessly produce sperm,
As all of them will dry up and die nowhere near a woman,
It produces nothing that no one wants,
And lives to only gratify itself.
But, it only does this because it only has itself,
For this meat sack has human DNA,
But is not human,
For no one has acknowledged it as such,
So it must live as something lesser,
It is forever the parasite that is meat sack.