Not Worth Hunting Poem by Arthur H Rowley

I am deserving, now, of little comfort
I have chaos to cause
all I am yet to commit is a cruelty
I shall induce pain on those I love

if I stay, forever with him
I may rot
into cellular confetti of myself
compacted into a man of anger

if I go, with myself alone
I may lose all I know
only to bring new-found failure
and misery upon myself

but here in the midsection
I am both rotting and alone
I am villainous and cowardice
I continue to protect and hurt those I love

I think I may just wait here
until it is all a wilted beast