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.