You, ripped out, head first,
The afterthought of a casual coupling.
A flower nipped in the bud.
Perhaps you would have been a feral thing.
A danger to us all.
Perhaps you may not have been like that at all.
You are merely,
The unfortunate confluence of fates,
Not your own.
You had no choice,
But the recipient of hard choices.
Where everything was done,
With the best of intentions.
And as the world turns your memory will recede,
Hidden away, buried deep. trying to escape.
In your afterlife you have become a burden,
Ever surfacing, causing regret, inflicting pain.
You have become the great sin, the unholy stain.