In the pureness of your incensed eyes
I can see your inner child cry out for help
Through each of your aching jabs at me
I feel you exorcise that angry child's ire
At every cynical utterance you throw at me
I can hear him, weeping and fearful in his seclusion
Each time you turn your back at me
I realize his incomprehension, his shame, his spite
In the depths of your pure eyes, full of hatred
Hate in which you distinguish only me
I see myself, I see that child
I reach forth to feel him
And together, chaos is but one.
