Stained Like Mustard

The vigorous pain you put me through stained like mustard,
no matter how hard I try to ignore it,
no matter how many times I washed it 
scrubbed it til it grew faint,
reality is it will never be the same. 

Like mustard on a white T-shirt,
you steal and blot my spotlessness,
with greet and deception,
I lay in muck. 

Designed to admire the purity the good,
admiration was a lost dog,
darkness was the comfort for one,
while the other endured a stain like mustard. 

Never the less the time has come,
where the stain is yet a minor part,
a faded remembrance,
of a fool who stains for fun. 
Yet it's such a small spot compared,
to all I have now become.