Rotten Love

Is noticing pain
something to be proud of
when you caused it?
Is being aware of anguish
something to be proud of
when you caused it?
Is senseless murder
senseless only to the one
who was killed?

The carcass
infested with maggots
stinks of neglect;
like a bad memory,
it's only putrid
when experienced.
Even when nature
finishes the decomposition,
the stain will remain.

You hold your nose,
avert your eyes,
redirect your path, avoiding
the disgrace on the floor
in your house.
You stop people at the entrance,
live on your porch,
come in the back way,
all to avoid the foyer of your life.

All of this
could have been avoided
if you addressed the issue
instead of running from it.
Clean up the mess that
you helped make,
aid in discarding the shell
of love
that lies rotting.

Let's put on the gloves
of sanitation, remove
the rotten beast without
re-contamination.
Reacquaint ourselves with
it, remember it alive,
and figure out why it died.
Let us bury it,
No Coroner needed.