You cut me and I hurt
Not with your hands
but with words that hurt
You are my visor and my shroud
Of this you're always proud
Entwined so much,
you say its love,
Of this I'm not so sure.
You wield your words
You poke and needle
Knowing how much it leaves me brittle.
Sometimes I think you stab and slash
Just so I chip and fall
Molded to your facade
Malleable, to bend and discard.
I think you've always known
My fragile bared to you
Your words cut deeply as much as they heal.
It sad to say that often time, those whom we are closest to are the ones who end up breaking us.
YOU ARE READING
Hatter Musings
Non-Fictionthoughts, poetry, musings and everything I feel all in one
