Purgatory is an Ashtray on Her Formica Table

Virulent eyes infect with a glance.
A noxious gaze that saturates
with tepid toxins. They seep into my pores as
my throat swells shut. I gasp
and clutch for some emotional flotsam
resembling hope...
too late,
I capsize in an ocean of stares
immersed in rage and worthlessness.
It churns and curdles within me
as I breathe in the filth
and take it into my soul.
I construct a chrysalis of cynicism and loathing,
push away humanity
and die.
Only to be reborn as a tainted butterfly
with wings of deception
that flies forth to infect others.

Later,
I found out that she writes
down the names of people
that wrong her
in a wire rim notebook.
At night, she lights a candle,
rips out the pages and sets them ablaze
absolving them of their sins...

...my forgiveness is in the ash
smudged on that Formica table
in the apartment of a woman
that sips chamomile tea
and sends fiery prayers to God
begging forgiveness
for those incapable
of asking for themselves.