Your hands turned me into a leper,
Infection through blows.
Fists poised to strike,
As mine were made to remain pursed in your lap.
Unaware of time,
I lay beside you.
Unaware of place,
I allowed you to guide me.
And as the disease took to my skin.
Sickly, and dripping off the bone.
I fell further from the source.
To me you are a boil,
Spewing puss,
Screaming to be seen.
But to them,
I remain the leper,
With my fists in your lap.