Sitting quiet, still and stoic
Does not mean
That the stab wound did not sting
That it did not fester and infect
Since I have so long allowed it
To be painfully inflicted
Time and time again
In the same soft spot where it began
As I sat unmoved, sick and distracted
Doped by numbing non-reaction
An illusion of compassion
I have been strong, and have stayed silent
But I am human, spent, and sore
Benefit of doubt becoming septic
Soon to rot from inside out
If I do not get up off this cushion,
Turned doormat, and scream once more
While I cut out this infection
Starting at the source
-a.r.











