I look down and see a scar developing, one that cannot be tamed. The dirty wind frustrates the wound. I try to hide it. I try to stop the bleeding. I try to heal the pain, however my efforts are not triumphant.
Quite like the words exiting from your mouth.
They tear me down. They scratch along the surface of my skin like nails. The words are gloomy, sucking the very life out of me.
Your words are strong and they kill.
Don’t you know there is power in your tongue?
Your words, my scar both are tormentors.