Ammonia*

A grudge...
maybe that's what
I'm holding for you.
A heavy package made of steel,
settled in my heart,
pleasing its own needs of
comfortability,
reminding me to
spit at your
parasitic picture of love.

We just need to hear
you say sorry,
my grudge and I,
in need of apologies
so much
we'll take it artificial.

"Excuse me?" our heart inquires,
"I'd like some oxygen."
But we can't listen to it,
not when there's so much to lose;
self respect, dignity.
We can't listen to that
stupid, little thing,
when there's so much justice
awaiting us.