by Nick Gisburne
Beyond the age of seven, give or take
Confusion tore the stitching of my soul
It gripped me with a nauseating ache
But something spiteful tore a deeper hole
A mother, and one other, thought it fair
To put me in a dismal room, alone
A sister, spared the same, no longer there
Received the love that I was never shown
I found a secret wonderland of books
But even these were spirited away
A flow of cold contempt and dirty looks
Polluted every minute, every day
I wish I could report a happy end
But something in my soul will never mend
