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