Hide and sulk

Sleeping by my mother's side,
A hurricane caught
My kwashiorkor-tended well-fit.
Wrong, it was his robust arms
Shackling my skeletal thoughts,
Powdering them into a misty dust,
Withering them in my blinded eyes,
Turning that night nighter than ever.
A firefly I was, tented beneath the skyroof
In the footpath that was my home.
A spoonful blackhole
of his lascivious desire
Geared, bulleted and fidgeted,
Mixed uglily with my retaliated not-let-go.
1-0,
An eventual win
For his sixpack in the tugowar.
Wringing the last drop of my light,
He left, over the open gate shoving
The leftover candle, all blown out -
All but waxing blisters and
Countless mysteries
Of everything I'd lost
In the hide and sulk.
There in the no-return,
I lay wondering
Why I was wrested from me.