Epitaph of the Abused

Amidst the cruel claws of doubt I plunged disastrously without Your helping hand, your soothing voice, In spite of how you had the choice; You've purchased now my dying breath Through willed abuse, my cause of death. Such shrewd abuse, the form of which Is crude neglect and wicked word The currency that made you rich And turmoil that within me stirred. Like putting out a fire by Pretending that it isn't there, Or heartening me as I cry By gifting me an empty stare. Like making my body hurt less By handing me a pack of smokes. In order to relieve my stress, Lobotomize me as I choke. The torment you've engraved in me Through harsh, relentless, cold abuse Does prompt one thought, that death is glee, To which I offer no excuse. Such cold abuse, such cold abuse That racks my frame, my mind, my soul. Like reassuring a recluse By not talking to him at all. Like swindling your warmth from me By giving it to someone else And forcing me to sit and see While ice around me slowly melts. Like lying in a manner bland About the bullet you would take, So that I wouldn't think "to hand The gun to you is a mistake."