Her beauty in the mirror doesn’t reach beneath the skin.
Worms wriggle under the surface, something rancid rots within.
Her smile seems so sickening, hollow happiness her mask of lies.
While words will swear they love, her hard heart beats “I despise”.
She’ll slowly syphon your soul, drain you dryer day by day.
Leaving you an empty husk, hear her howl as she slinks away.
Be careful should you dare to hope, to cope, to rise again.
Should she sense some salvation, she’ll be back to bring more pain.
Her hatred’s hoarded for you, stored stale high on a crooked shelf.
On days when she can’t reach you, she swallows some hate herself.
What she did, what you were, what she made, what she has done.
She feels each sin scratch deeper, flaying flesh with every one.
The fists she struck against you beat her down to the floor.
Sickened by herself, vilely vomits then hates you some more.
I hope someday you fly free from her, recover, rejoice and renew.
Till then I’ll hold you close in love (and maybe hate her a little for you).
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.