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This is it, folks, the REAL poem:

"The Souls That Stained My Life"
By Jolene Harris

Beneath my heart, where I must not venture
Nor give thought to
There lies a place they once stopped
And tried to stay
No doubt, a parasite
An assumption, incorrect
I awoke to their mindless wandering
Pointing to the signs reading:
"No Trespassing"
Yet they seemed to march onward
Incapable of listening to the mute
Recognizing the disabled
The weak, the unsightly
Unyielding to my desperate pleas
I struggled to yell; my agony unheard
My feeble communication I offer:
"I am not for sale"
They crumpled my note, devouring it instantly
A deep wound caused by
Their refusal to listen
Unwilling to see
Keeping their stead
Claiming I was nothing more
Than a rotten corpse twisted in a ditch
In my despair
I believed in hope
Still pushing and shoving them
Now they reside in my heart
Beneath, in the place I dare not venture
Nor think about
Even through unforgiving circumstances
As they remain eternally
No, they mustn't stay here
If I have my say
I die content.

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