abuser

Your rainbow always seems to live within me.
But it is a mere paradox inside a Pandora ’s Box,
Whose bitter rough crusted and tired outer shell,
Feels like slowly torn wet flesh, now yielding open.

For in its many colours rest those chestnut folds,
A pure cold hard peripheral vision of Paralysis;
Where in honesty there rests not one hope hold,
And thoughts dominion is made a mockery.

Instead, there within, lies a yell of empty hell
Where the repulsive entwine with the repulsed
Caused by the bitter state of empty foolish play;
Being fuelled by the burning hatred of my heart.

For you left here an object of no self-worth,
A creature that was a child of near purity
For the red book you gave me brought a curse
And led this open gentle soul to bitter poverty.