Sticks prod at the little patience to my name. Stones paint with the colours of concrete. Don't try to convince me words do not hurt me.
Your neglect clogs my airways and I can no longer breath. Your sharp words prick me and drain me of crimson.
Picking me up from the ground careful not to touch the art that invades my skin to just drop me and create a new masterpiece. Don't try to convince me words do not hurt me.
Cheeks lubricated by leaking taps but burning from the daggers repelling off of your tongue. A shadow dripping with guilt may cloud your face
though no words follow the foreboding of an apology. Don't try to convince me words do not hurt me.
When grips can't stop the fall and knives won't cut less deep you couldn't convince her that words won't hurt her.
When liquid invaded his lungs and ropes snapped bones like twigs you didn't convince him that words wouldn't hurt him.
Hurt. Physically yes and mentally too
though a bruise will fade; skin will look new, though the infinity loop replays in my brain, you can't love me enough it won't go away. Don't try to convince me words do not hurt me.
Tears. Alone in a room. Invisible scars from the careless words and playground tunes; you wouldn't laugh if it was you. You wouldn't laugh if it was you.
Gone. And sticks and stones may have broke my bones. Words were the ones that ended me.
