hurt

 
cutting words meant to mutilate
deflecting feelings so evident
thrown like daggers
hits a target
I'm left holding my wounds
cold cocked and wordless

my hurt echoes inside me
I revert to the shadows where I am safest
loneliness is better

in the sacred art of death none is better
swing wide and strike
an easy target for you to hit

envenomate and bite
a paralysis of soul ensues
I can neither rise nor sink

in purgatory I languish without you
keening with thoughts
of I shouldn't have