Sweet sensual lies you spill out of your luscious soft succulent lips, lies begotten from truth: woven into the matrix of my mind.
Your savoury words crotched with expert skills-man-ship; adorn each and every one of your smiles.
Speaking with fervour, unaware of the damage you caress with the words you spew tenderly and harmoniously into my memory.
So I shut my heart to your words and close my tears to this pain: words, beautiful and woven as a gossamer in the spring, words torn from the sky painted with your scarlet broken voice, words written with the blood of your lust.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words, your words shatter my soul.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words, your words shatter my soul.
With my dignity left on my backside underneath your words; my love left tucked in your blue sheets wrapped in the black smock of your oblivion.
Maybe my prying eyes and curious heart got the best of me; maybe I was too unashamed to look for reasons of your imminent escape. Tell me what it is, what cause have I had on the effect of my thriving love.
Is it my gentle caress of your future dreams, my constant need for your attention, my impatience with your inadequate responses? Tell me what has my affection has done to your love? Has it smothered all we have, have I smothered my dignity with your sheets, drowned your fears with my selfish tears. Tell me what I need to change, tell me what needs to be said: what do I need to do to renegotiate the heartbeat that was mine back into rhythm? My rhythm?
Or should I stop thinking much of what we have, shut my heart to the torment, turn my pieces on my back let you take what you need and forget how to feel? All the love I have to give falls on deaf ears; falls on a blind heart.
So I will lock my love in a bottomless pit, undefined and unfelt. I will not show emotion not today or tomorrow because it holds no respite for the pain you show. I refuse to love if it hurts, I refuse to feel warm if its effect is caustic, I refuse to let you see my soul as I have before because you see seriousness rather than me; rather than my love for you.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words, your words shatter my soul.
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| ...Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words, your words mar my soul... |
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