Stained And Even

It was only one dirty word
You had thrown in my face
My right eye caught it like it
Were a hand
My tears carried the word
Like a virus to my veins
Infecting all my organs
As I got sick the following days
Of my life

I know what happens next
But I cannot just die until
I vomit that dirty word
That now I throw back
At you, then the rest becomes
History,

Some eulogies are written
As a compromise
Of this hate,
This one is for you
That you rest in peace
As I wait
For my own peace too
In my own time sooner
Than tomorrow.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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