by Nick Gisburne
I hate you, in so many wicked ways,
An all-consuming cancer of the mind.
Remembering a tender word or phrase
Reminds me I was gullible, and blind.
A subtle serpent paints your lips with lies,
A sweetness cut with sour, spiteful noise.
In distant, deadly, passion-painted eyes
Are promises, a torture for your toys.
I see the smoking shadows of your soul,
The devil in that diabolic heart,
But I am not a puppet to control,
No victim, tricked and trampled, torn apart.
I hate you, every fibre, every bone,
For every twist of torment I was shown.
