It has a method,
A tactic,
A mode of operation
To achieve its infiltration
Of the mind, soul, and being.
It’s a deep red toxin,
Red as the color you’re seeing
When it rises to attention.

It drizzles down,
Acid rain,
Light moments of stinging pain,
Soaking into skin; Scars remain
That breed angry, bitter thoughts.
With no action to diffuse them,
They fester, bide time, hoard shots,
Waiting anxiously to use them.

It won’t rinse out,
Like bloodstains,
A tainted fragment deep within
That bubbles underneath the skin.
Until the time comes to erupt,
Injustice done, the final straw.
To the unobservant, it’s abrupt,
But the burning wrath was always raw.