Waste
you bastard
you took something from me that no one else has or could or would
I want it back you creep but you're dead your glowing obituary honoring
the many years of public position as a chiropractor and husband and
father of five what would they all say huh i bet they'd call me a liar and
just a sicko trying to get revenge or publicity or some other absurd
inane rationalization instead of believing their beloved doctor could do
such a thing to another human being by the way this poem has no
punctuation because you don't deserve the time or energy required you
sick sorry son-of-a-***** and the worst thing is I let it go I never confronted
you while I had the chance because I was so ashamed I wonder how many
others you took such liberties with under the guise of your practice THEY
are the reason I should have spoken up but I was a coward such secrets
you have taken to the grave and they are rotting with you decaying and
stinking like holy hell the shame you passed along with the act was your
insurance wasn't it you bastard you counted on it and counted on it rotting
right along with everything else but there's no grave for my memory no
such sad sorry end just IT rotting along in my head and the horrific carrion
stink that fills my senses rotting curses and names and empty vengeful
thoughts I save for you that I'll never get to shove in your twisted face
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